


The Blood of the Covert

by Hylophobic



Series: The Space Cowboy Saga [5]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Blood and Injury, Explicit Language, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Raga has the one brain cell, accidental teenager acquisition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:15:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24755368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hylophobic/pseuds/Hylophobic
Summary: After the events of Space Cowboy, Jon is just trying to meet back up with his family now that he's disposed of the Imperial device. A quick detour for fuel leads to him running into a squadron of Stormtroopers.Now he just needs to figure out how to explain all of this to Paz.
Relationships: Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret)/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Paz Vizla/Jon (Hylophobic)
Series: The Space Cowboy Saga [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1681876
Comments: 42
Kudos: 131





	1. Is Thicker Than Water

**Author's Note:**

> Witness me for I have returned!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has been patient with me. I took a little time to myself to plot out what I wanted to do with this new series so I could make sure that it is something I could be proud of.
> 
> It certainly had nothing to do with my barely controlled Animal Crossing addiction... Nope. Absolutely not.
> 
> Only the best for you guys!
> 
> Shout out to my beta, WizardMoonwhisper, who is the dealer of my commas and the enabler of my AC addiction.
> 
> Edit: Encountered an issue after posting this where the work wasn't showing up correctly. Hoping re-posting will fix said issues.

LN-0201 watched as his commander towered over the mechanic, who seemed completely indifferent and unconcerned by this whole ordeal. Their squad leader had been questioning the smaller man for nearly thirty minutes, and it was clear that the man was quickly losing his patience.

Not that Commander Masluk had that much patience to begin with.

“Listen man,” the shorter man sighed, irritation seeping into his tone. “I do’t know wha’ ya want from me. I told ya everythin’ I know-.”

“Except for your client’s name,” Masluk snarled.

The mechanic paused, then slowly pulled back from where he’d been leaning over a speeder bike to level an unimpressed look at the imperial. “Have ya actually been ta this planet ‘fore? Nobody gives  _ names _ here, and any names ya do get are prob’ly an alias.”

He glances at his commander, the others in his squadron shifting uncomfortably around him.

Masluk sneers down at the mechanic, but either this tiny man has the balls of a wookie or no self-preservation skills, because he simply ignores the infuriated commander to continue with his tinkering.

“And how long did you say your client would be gone?”

“I didn’t,” the man huffs, not even looking up from his work when their commander takes a threatening step forward. “He might o’ mentioned bein’ gone a week. Somethin’ ‘bout havin’ a job lined up.”

The imperial commander gives a short nod at this new information, raising a hand to signal to the waiting stormtroopers. The mechanic turns away then, clearly done talking and moves to a pile of tools on the other side of the hangar.

LN-0201’s attention is pulled away from the strange mechanic by the sound of his commander barking out orders.

“I want four teams of three troopers patrolling the area. The engines of this ship are still warm. The Mandalorian couldn’t have gotten far.”

He makes to move towards the exit and the streets that lay beyond, but a hand pressing into his breastplate halts him.

“LN-0201, I want you to stay behind and keep an eye on our  _ friend _ here,” Musluk states. “I expect you to check in every hour. Do I need to remind you that this will be your final chance before you are sent to reconditioning?” When LN-0201 mutely shakes his head, the older man levels a glare at the trooper. “Do not disappoint me, soldier.”

“Affirmative,” he automatically replies, throwing out a salute for good measure.

The man was still clearly in a foil mood, and the last thing he wanted was to be on the receiving end of his ire.

He watches his squadron file out of the small hanger before turning back to standing guard over the smaller human mechanic.

Only to find his target gone.

Heart leaping into this throat, LN-0201 curses and scrambles forward.

He was dead if his commander found out he’d allowed the man to escape just two minutes after their group had left.

The stormtrooper spins around at the sound of something shifting behind a stack of crates nearby. He raises his blaster and cautiously stalks towards the source of the noise, only for something to smack against his visor hard enough to temporarily stun him. Something sharp presses into his neck, right at the space between where his helmet ends and his chest armor begins.

“Drop tha blaster,” the mechanic demands, voice a lazy drawl.

He hesitates a moment, and that is apparently the wrong thing to do, because the vibroblade the smaller man is brandishing pushes closer to his jugular.

“Do’t go makin’ me repeat myself.”

The stormtrooper slowly lowers his weapon and allows it to drop unceremoniously to the ground.

The mechanic throws a lop-sided grin his way. “Thank ya kindly. Now how ‘bout ya take a seat and cool yer heels fer a while.”

Again, LN-0201 hesitates. He’s completely at a loss with the man’s relaxed, even polite, demeanor. This was a different person than the man who had been speaking to his commander not five minutes ago.

Something wasn’t adding up here.

Raising his arms in surrender, the imperial carefully moves to sit on the offered crate the man had motioned towards. He’d just lowered himself down when the brunet held out a hand in his direction.

“Helmet,” the man orders, pursing his lips when LN-0201 doesn’t immediately move to obey. “Ya either take it off yerself or I’ll take it off fer ya. I ain’t gonna let ya call fer yer friends.”

He doesn’t understand why the mechanic hasn’t killed him yet, but slowly reaches up to unfasten the clamps of his helmet. He has to blink rapidly when the armor slips free, eyes stinging from the bright, unfiltered light, and holds out the helmet towards the other man.

The brunet snatches the helm from his outstretched hand and freezes once his eyes settle on LN-0201’s face.

“Fuck,” the smaller male grumbles quietly, clicking his tongue in frustration and throwing the offending helm over his shoulder.

He tenses at the curse, but when he still didn’t have a knife sticking out of his neck, the trooper glanced up. He was expecting to see disgust, or maybe even hatred, but he’s instead confronted with a pained expression.

_ “Val ru’kel pirimmur ade,” _ the mechanic murmurs darkly under his breath in a language that he doesn’t recognise.

“How old are ya kid?”

He blinks at the question, brows pulling down at the term ‘kid’. “I’m not a child. I’m 17.”

The mechanic hums, clearly unimpressed. The man turns to scoop up the trooper’s blaster next and brings the weapon down hard against one of the vessel’s landing gears. LN-0201 startles as the whole damn thing shatters like it was made from glass, and the now useless blaster is tossed across the hangar to land near his helmet.

“Lucky fer ya I’m not in tha habit o’ offin’ kids. Even ones takin’ up with tha Empire,” the smaller male grumbles, eyeing the trooper as he moves to inspect the underside of the ship.

There’s something about this mechanic that has LN-0201’s gut twisting. It takes him a moment to comprehend the emotion he was feeling.

Hope. He was feeling hope.

He’s so used to people talking down to him, or simply looking over him. He was used to pain and anguish, those things are commonplace when working for the Empire. 

What he isn’t used to is this prickly kindness being thrown his way.

“You aren’t a mechanic. This is your ship, isn’t it,” his voice is barely above a whisper, the realization sinking in as he watches the other man look over the gunship.

“Tha’ academy trainin’ is really payin’ off there, and fer the record it’s not mine exactly," is the mumbled reply, the trooper notices how the man keeps LN-0201 in his peripherals even as he goes through the motions of a pre-flight check. “I’m… borrowing it. Also, who tha hell said I wasn’t a mechanic?!”

“But… this ship is registered to a Mandalorian. It was one of the ones that escaped Nevarro…”

He bites his tongue when the man glances up at him, a calculating look in those green eyes.

“Is tha’ right,” the brunet asks, tilting his head to the side. Whatever else he says is mumbled in that other language and without his bucket, LN-0201 doesn’t have the means to translate it.

“Take me with you.”

The trooper snaps his jaw closed the moment the words slip past his lips. The other man spins completely around to squint at him.

“Ya wanna defect,” the mechanic slowly questions, eyes narrowing.

LN-0201 shifts uncomfortably under the man’s scrutiny, and the movement causes the brunet to tense. The smaller man is still holding that blade tightly in one of his hands so the trooper keeps his own hands where they’re visible and tries to make himself look smaller.

“I… yeah. I mean, yes. Yes sir,” his stammering is cut off by an amused snort.

“Do’t call me ‘sir’, and if ya want to defect so badly then go runnin’ ta one of tha cantinas in this port. Plenty o’ rebels in this town now tha’ the Empire isn’t quite so powerful. They ain’t as subtle as they like to think they are. I’m sure one of ‘em would be happy ta give ya a cause worth fightin’ fer.”

He frowns at the older man. “I don’t want to join the rebels…”

He trails off, uncertainty curling painfully in his stomach.

“But ya do’t want ta go back ta the Imps, either,” the man hums, he almost sounds like he understands LN-0201’s plight. “Sorry ta say ya do’t got too many options open to ya pal. Life ain't always fair.”

The stormtrooper chews his lower lip in thought. He can’t go back, not this time. Not after this failure. But he knew he wouldn’t survive out in the galaxy without someone to show him how things worked outside of the Empire.

“Please, I’ll do anything.”

For some reason that seems to be the wrong thing to say because the man’s face sours, face contorting to look like he might be sick.

“Listen kid, I do’t think…”

“They killed my mom,” he whispers, throat clenching painfully around the words.

The brunet flinches hard at the confession and turns his head away to glare at the mess of parts scattered around the hangar.

“Please,” LN-0201 urges. “If I go back they’ll…”

“Fine,” the mechanic spits out, voice lowered into a growl.

He blinks up in shock, surprised the man had given in so easily, and watches as the mechanic angrily shoves his vibroblade back into a sheath hidden in the back of his pants.

A tense silence falls over them, the other man refusing to look his way as he turns back to his inspection.

Needing something to do, if only to thank the mechanic for agreeing to take him along, LN-0201 stands. “What can I do to help?”

“Strip,” the man calls over his shoulder, then gives him a flat look when the trooper’s face reddens. “Do’t flatter yerself, kid. ‘Sides, I’m married. I meant yer armor. Tha’ shit ain’t goin’ on my ship. Get rid o’ it.”

LN-0201 falters, but the mechanic turns his back on him so the trooper begins the process of unclasping the armor and pulling it off.

By the time the last piece joins the rest in a pile at his feet the small mechanic had finished the last of the prep work and is waiting at the base of the ship’s ramp. He moves forward, suddenly feeling vulnerable in nothing, but his blacks. If the man chose to attack now there was little chance he’d survive.

“My name is Jon,” the brunet states, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye when he gets close enough. “I can’t keep callin’ ya ‘kid’ so wha’s yer name?”

“LN-0201.” He keeps his head lowered, eyes fixed on the man’s boots. He’d learned over the years it was best not to stand out too much.

“Tha’ ain’t a name.”

“That’s what they called me.”

“And I call ya ‘kid’. Does that make it yer name?”

“... no.”

When he dares to look up it's to see Jon’s mouth pressed into a thin line, brows raised to look at him expectantly.

“Lukas,” he says quietly, shoulders hunching further towards his ears.

Instead of reprimanding him for hesitating the brunet gives a single nod before motioning up the ramp behind him. He nearly doesn’t catch the saddened look in the older man’s eyes.

“Come on then. We still got 40 minutes ‘fore anyone starts wonderin’ where ya are. I’m hopin’ ta be well out of this system by then.”

The ship isn’t much, but it’s obvious that it was meant for a warrior if the various weapons lockers bolted to the walls were anything to go by. When they reach the cockpit, Lukas blinks in shock, there’s a tangle of wires and spare parts littering the floor near the nav-system. The trooper gives the mess a wide berth as he moves to one of the co-pilot seats. It almost looks like something had been ripped out from under the control panel.

“I woulda had tha’ cleaned up if it wasn’t fer yer squad droppin’ in unannounced,” Jon mutters when he spots the trooper staring at the clutter.

He doesn’t respond. Honestly, he wasn’t sure how much he could get away with regarding his new travel companion. Jon hadn’t gotten angry with him so far, but that could change if the imp pushed his luck.

Ex-imperial, a small voice reminded him, and he felt himself becoming dizzy with the thought of freedom just within reach.

They manage to get off-world without incident and, as soon as they clear the atmosphere, Jon engages the hyperdrive.

Lukas can suddenly breathe easier once he sees the stars of the system melt away and he turns his attention to the other man. Jon is looking over a series of coordinates and seems completely at ease with his presence. Or he forgot the ex-trooper was even there…

“So,” he starts, but pauses when the man glances over his shoulder to look his way. When the mechanic doesn’t snarl obscenities or orders him to keep his mouth shut, Lukas feels some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “You said you were married?”

Jon hums a confirmation before turning back to plot out their next jump.

“So where’s your wife?”

“Husband,” the mechanic corrects. The ex-trooper winces at his mistake, but Jon’s voice sounds almost amused, so he takes that as a good sign. “And, hopefully, he’ll be at tha end o’ this rather complicated series o’ jumps.”

As if sensing his question, the shorter man chuckles. “Can’t have yer friends followin’ us ta the meet-up, so you and me are takin’ tha scenic route.”

Lukas nods then freezes when some of the pieces begin to fall into place for him.

“This ship is registered to a Mandalorian.”

“Yep.”

“And you said you were borrowing it, right?”

Jon turns around fully in his seat and levels an unreadable look at the trooper. “Yeah, I did say that, didn’t I?”

“You’re married to a Mandalorian,” the trooper breathes out, voice trembling.

“There it is,” the brunet snickers, a grin tugging at one corner of his mouth. “I was wonderin’ how long it would take fer ya ta make tha’ connection.”

His gut twists at the thought of facing down a Mandalorian. Hell, the thought had scared the shit out of him when he’d been with his squad. Now, though, he was on his own.

“Lukas,” Jon calls out, sounding oddly worried.

“Huh?” He blinks up at the man and starts when he realizes the mechanic was giving him an odd look.

An apology is on the tip of his tongue when Jon nods towards the doorway of the cockpit.

“Go get some sleep, kid. Ya look like yer about ta pass out.”

“But…”

He stops himself from arguing. He can’t afford to get on the man’s bad side now. Not if he hopes to survive the coming encounter with a possibly angry Mandalorian spouse so instead he pushes himself up and heads below deck.

He’s just beginning to descend the ladder to the hold when he hears Jon say something in that strange language.

_ “Ni ru’kir’manir a adiik. Tion’jor cuy’ ni bid di’kutla.” _

*~~*~~*~~*

It was a kid.

A kriffin’ kid!

Honestly, it made sense. The Empire didn’t have the means, nor the resources, to create clones anymore. Corin was proof enough of that.

But to actually see the evidence, to look one of those children in the eyes…

Jon brings a shaking hand up to rub at the bridge of his nose.

The only reason he’d come to that port was to re-fuel the ship after dumping that cursed piece of imperial tech in one of the lava flows located on that planet’s moon.

It was supposed to be a quick trip. Get fuel. Check food supplies. Set course to the designated location that Raga had managed to forward to the ship’s comms a few days prior.

Jon hadn’t planned to be accosted by a bunch of stormtroopers and their fearless leader.

That planet boasted a large population of rebels and their sympathizers. The brunet was impressed that lot had managed to make it into the shipyard in one piece.

He most certainly hadn’t planned on adopting a stray trooper pup.

The mechanic had been playing the events that lead him up to this point over and over in his head for days.

It almost felt like something might be guiding him along this path.

Jon frowns and runs his hand up through his hair.

He’d never given the force much thought over the years, but now he was starting to wonder if he should have researched it a bit more in his early years. 

Fuck, he missed Paz.

The mechanic bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood just to keep from crying out in frustration.

He had intended to kill the trooper before leaving the hanger, if only to buy a little time. Had he left the man alive, it would have only been a matter of time before his cover would have been blown and that squadron of bucketheads would have given chase.

Jon couldn’t allow that to happen. He couldn’t allow those soldiers to follow him back to his family.

So he had demanded the trooper’s helmet.

Once he’d dragged his eyes away from the offending article of armor in his hand and actually looked at the man…

Kid. It was a fucking kid.

A pale face stared back at him for the briefest of moments before those hazel eyes had immediately darted away. The kid’s hair was cut so short it was difficult to actually make out a hair color, but Jon suspected it might be blond.

The young trooper’s body had curled inwards, like he was expecting a blow. Like he was  _ expecting _ pain.

Kriff.

He couldn’t kill him.

_ “I’m not a child. I’m 17.” _

Jon had wanted to snort at the claim, but that quickly evaporated when the boy had taken the chance to glance up at the mechanic.

What he saw caused his blood to run cold.

The sight of sunken cheekbones, dark circles around those hazel eyes, and various bruises, all in a different state of healing, nearly punched the air out of his lungs.

The child looked like he hadn’t slept in days and it looked like he hadn’t had a decent meal in longer.

And while that explained his hesitance to kill the boy, that wasn’t what had made Jon decide to bring him along.

_ “Please, I’ll do anything.” _

Jon had used those same words years ago. After his father had given him the scars adoring his back. After he had been released from the med-center, the wounds still tender and fresh.

Instead of returning to a home that he knew would be the eventual death of him, Jon had fled. He’d found the closest hangar and begged the first bounty hunter he’d encountered to take him off-world.

_ “Please, I’ll do anything.” _

He had learned quickly after that to choose his words more carefully.

At least the hunter had also learned rather quickly that Jon proved to be a better mechanic than a bed-warmer.

The brunet allowed a bitter chuckle to bubble up from his throat even as a shiver racked his thin frame.

“What the fuck am I even doing?”

The vessel’s systems humming quietly around him gave no answer and the mechanic leaned back in his chair with a groan.

Paz had explained the concept of foundlings before. It was part of being a Mandalorian after all. The thought had been appealing to him at the time.

Finding a child in need of a home and giving them a life that Jon had never experienced…

He wonders if it was too late to offer that home to Lukas.


	2. Sleep is a precious thing, but so is trust.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is running on very little sleep, but he refuses to take that out on the kid. Lukas isn't sure what he's gotten himself into by boarding the mechanic's ship, but he's starting to have serious concerns about the brunet's sleep schedule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks go out to my beta reader, WizardMoonwhisper!

_“Part of being a Mandalorian is raising our children as Mandalorians. We raise them to know and understand the Creed. Though they may decide not to walk the path of their parents, at least we know that we have bestowed the skills they may need to survive in this cruel galaxy.”_

_“And children means foundlin’s too?”_

_“The foundlings are as much our children as the ones born of our blood…”_

Jon woke from his light doze with a gasp. He leaned forward in the pilot’s seat with a groan, one shaking hand reaching up to comb through his tangled mess of hair.

Since leaving the covert, the mechanic’s sleep schedule had taken a turn for the worse. The few hours of sleep he managed to scrape together were often haunted by nightmares. If he was lucky, he might be able to wake to the soft reassurances of his husband’s voice before reality came crashing back down around him.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure which was worse.

The smaller man had spent the better part of the last five hours attempting to get some kind of rest, but his body was too used to the Mandalorian’s presence to really allow him to drift off into the deeper kind of sleep his body needed to function.

Once he got back to the covert, he was never going to leave their bed again.

“Raga’ll pro’bly break both my kneecaps when I get back ta ‘em anyways,” he mumbles softly into the cold air of the cockpit.

“Who’s Raga?”

It spoke to how utterly exhausted the mechanic was that he didn’t even jump at the sudden question. Instead, he sluggishly glanced over his shoulder to see the ex-trooper warily eyeing him from the doorway.

He considered not answering or changing the subject, but quickly dismissed those ideas entirely. If he was planning on adopting the ex-imperial and bringing him back to the covert, then he had to establish some kind of trust between the two of them.

It was going to be tough enough to get the kid to understand that the family of Mandalorians weren’t going to hurt him, lying wasn’t going to help the process along.

“She’s my sister,” Jon slowly responded, words slurring around a jaw-cracking yawn.

“Shouldn’t you get some sleep?”

The question was hesitant, and when the mechanic shifted completely around in his seat the trooper took a half step back. Jon frowned, recognizing the behavior. He’d done the same thing in his early years.

The teen was afraid. Maybe not of Jon, but he was afraid of being punished.

“Kid… Lukas, sit down,” the mechanic firmly stated as he nodded towards one of the co-pilot chairs.

His tone of voice left no room for argument, and the ex-trooper scrambled to obey what the kid probably thought was an order. Once the boy settled into the seat, the mechanic leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“Look at me.”

A half second of hesitation before those hazel eyes cautiously raised to meet his.

“This...,” Jon started, waving his hands around the cockpit to emphasize his point. “This ain’t tha Empire. Ya ain’t gonna be punished fer askin’ questions or speakin’ yer mind here.”

Lukas’ eyes widened a bit in disbelief, mouth dropping open before closing again with an audible click.

“I ain’t gonna hurt ya, kid. My family ain’t gonna hurt ya, either. Yer safe with us.”

A silence fell over the cabin afterwards. The only sounds coming from the various systems behind the older man, none of which seemed to be an alarm so Jon kept his eyes trained on the teenager.

“They told us...,” the kid began slowly, pausing to swallow thickly before continuing. “They said that Mandalorians _killed_ kids…” Jon snorts, but otherwise keeps silent. “That’s not true is it?”

“Nah, kid. It ain’t. But I imagine there’s a lot o' things tha’ tha Imps told ya tha’ ain’t true.”

Lukas turns to stare out of one of the viewports, so the mechanic swivels around to inspect the control panel.

Several minutes passed as Jon plotted out their next jump. At their current speed, they should enter the system Raga had detailed in her message within a few days. If they managed to stay out of trouble, that is.

“How do I know I can trust you?” Lukas’ voice was barely above a whisper, and there was a slight tremble to it.

The brunet paused, turning his head to eye the boy. “I guess ya can’t.”

The ex-imperial stared right back, maintaining eye contact even when it was clear he wanted nothing more than to sink further into his seat.

The Empire hadn’t broken the kid’s spirit completely yet, and Jon counted that as a major win.

“I ain’t askin’ ya ta blindly put yer trust in me, Lukas. I’m askin’ ya ta give me tha chance ta _earn_ it.”

A ping from the control panel pulled his attention back to the nav-system, but not before he caught the slight nod the kid sent his way.

*~~*~~*~~*

Corin watched as the Din tried to lure Paz into a conversation, or, possibly, a fight. The larger Mandalorian had been quiet ever since they left the covert nearly a week ago and he could tell that the bounty hunter was becoming increasingly worried about his friend’s silence. Not to mention the other three armored warriors that had crammed into the _RazorCrest_ , all of whom were acting like this was a funeral procession and not a rescue mission.

He slowly turned to glance over at Raga. The woman had been a source of righteous fury upon discovering what had transpired in the hanger and after climbing aboard the ship hadn’t said a single word since.

“You should talk to her, _Alor’ad_ ,” he heard his Mandalorian tell Paz. “Come on, big guy. Talk to me. I’d settle for you calling me an idiot at this point.”

That, at least, got a snort of amusement out of the larger man.

_Baby steps…_

The ex-trooper carefully crossed the cargo hold towards Raga, once close enough he pressed his back against the durasteel wall and slid down to sit next to the Mandalorian.

“Hey,” he greeted, the warrior tilted her helm at him, but otherwise didn’t reply. “Raga it’s been days. Say something...”

“When we find him,” the woman breathes out, voice lowered into an enraged hiss. “I am going to break both of his kneecaps and cuff his ass to a bed. See if he can squirm his way out of that…”

Corin’s brows raised up into his hairline and he slowly pushed himself up.

“I’m just gonna go… over there.”

The woman hums, but turns her helm away to stare at the opposite wall.

“...Okay.”

The stormtrooper trudged his way into the small kitchenette, sparing a look at Din and Paz before turning to search through the cabinets.

They didn’t have much in the way of alcohol, but he did find a half empty bottle of what he assumed to be Mando _Papuur’gal._ The ex-imperial snatched up a cup and began to fill it when the sound of a throat clearing pulled his attention from the wine.

“Corin? Wha...,” Din cocked his helm in question and, although he couldn’t see the man’s face, he knew the bounty hunter was eyeing the liquor in his hand.

He held up a single finger and downed the shot in one quick swig. He eyed the bottle for a moment and gave it a small shake, debating with himself.

“Corin...”

“Don’t judge me, Din,” he grumbled, pouring himself another glass.

The bounty hunter cocks his helmet to the side, making a curious sound, but he doesn’t try to convince Corin to put down the wine.

“Did she say anything,” he startles when Paz speaks, the man’s voice is hoarse from disuse.

Corin hesitates. “Yeah…,” he trails off, bringing the cup up to sip at the alcohol.

“Something about Jon then,” the large man hums, nodding his helm. “What did she say?”

He grimaces at the question, trying to avoid the man’s gaze by shifting his own face away.

“Believe me, _vod._ You probably don’t want to know.”

The grunt he receives in response sounds more like a laugh, so he chalks that up as a win.

“He’s going to be okay. You know that, right Paz?”

The larger man stares at the ex-trooper for several minutes before turning away with a small nod. “I know…”

“Good…” Corin sighs in relief.

“Because if he isn’t I won’t stop until the Empire, all of it, is in flames.”

_Not good…_

*~~*~~*~~*

“You should really sleep.”

It’s nearly 36 hours after he’d decided to bring the teen along, and it seems the kid had finally taken notice of his insomnia.

Or he had already noticed, and it had taken this long for Lukas to muster up the courage to say anything.

A retort is on the tip of his tongue before what little brain power he had left kicked in and he clamped his jaw closed around a gruff sounding huff. The ex-trooper still shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other, but at least the mechanic hadn’t snapped at him. Yelling at the kid would probably undo the small level of trust he’d gained in the short time they’d been traveling together. 

“Layin’ down ain’t gonna help.”

He decides to reply honestly.

That was the adult thing to do, right?

It had nothing to do with the fact that he was so tired, at this point he doubted that he even had the mental capacity to form a lie. Much less a believable one.

Lukas frowns and tilts his head to the side. Obviously curious, but the ex-trooper is still holding back, still hesitant to ask questions even with the mechanic numerous assurances that he wouldn’t be punished.

Jon decides that the next time he encounters an Imperial commander, or general, or whatever, he was going to take a plasma torch to their face. Simple as that.

“It do’t have anythin’ ta do with ya being on board, if tha’s wha’ ya was thinkin’.”

The trooper steps a little closer, body tense like he expects to be snapped at any moment. The brunet eyes him from where he’s hunched over the small table within the area of the ship that services as the kitchenette. His caff has gone cold, but like hell was the mechanic going to let it go to waste.

He’s pretty sure the only thing keeping him going was the caffeine and sheer stubbornness.

“So, what’s the problem?”

The question takes him by pleasant surprise, and the smaller man spares the boy an encouraging smile.

“Tha problem is Paz ain’t here.”

The answer is short, just a tiny bit of information to hopefully pique the kid’s interest enough to start an actual conversation.

“Paz… is your husband, right?” Jon gives the ex-imperial a nod. “So, you can’t sleep without him… Why?”

The mechanic bites his lower lip and glances down into his long forgotten drink.

“I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t hav…”

“Nightmares, mostly.”

Lukas freezes, clearly not expecting the soft answer. The kid hesitates for a solid minute then moves a little closer, slowly easing himself down into the chair opposite Jon at the table. The mechanic waits patiently, keeping his hands where the teen can see them and trying to keep a relaxed posture.

“You have nightmares too?”

 _Too_.

Jon makes a mental note of that and files it away for later.

“Yeah.”

“About what?”

“They’re not so much nightmares, as memories I guess,” the mechanic sighs, leaning back in his seat to straighten the kinks out of his spine. 

“... bad memories?”

“Yeah,” Jon hums, swallowing down a swig of his caff if only to give himself a moment to breathe. “Yeah.”

“And Paz helps?”

“They all help in a way, but ta answer yer question: yeah, he helps.”

The kid leans back heavily in his chair, lowering his eyes to the table in front of him. The brunet goes back to his drink, grimacing as he downs the cold concoction, and lets Lukas have a moment to think.

The quiet doesn’t last as long as the smaller male thought it might. He’s pushing himself up to make another cup of strong caff when the ex-trooper clears his throat.

“You aren’t a Mandalorian, are you?”

Jon actually laughs at that. “Nah, kid. I ain’t.”

“Do… do you live on this ship with him?”

“Nah. I live with him in tha covert.”

“Covert,” Lukas asks, blinking at him…

And shit if the kid didn’t somehow look younger.

When they all made it back, Jon was gonna take the little runt straight to Ghas for a health check.

There was no way the kid was actually 17, or if he was, he was severely malnourished.

“Tha covert is where tha Mandos all live. Well, at least, where our tribe lives.”

The trooper pales at the new information, suddenly looking nervous.

“There’s more than one?!”

“Lukas,” his tone is stern, and slightly clipped. He’s exhausted and running on fumes, he won’t be able to help get the kid through a panic attack at this rate so it was best to nip this in the bud.

The teenager’s head snaps up to stare at him. Good, he’s got his attention.

“Listen real close, ‘cause I’m only sayin’ this once. Mandalorians do't hurt kids.”

“But I’m an Imp…”

“A kid,” he hissed, frazzled nerves and lack of sleep causing the words to come out a bit louder than intended.

Though it did seem to do the trick. Lukas’ eyes snapped to attention, but the kid’s body flinched at the tone.

Jon cursed under his breath.

“Sorry, kid,” the mechanic immediately apologized, words slurring around another yawn. “Ya can have a panic attack after we meet up with tha others. Hell, we can even take turns if ya want.”

The trooper blinked at him, face going through several emotions before settling on… concern?

“You… you should really get some sleep.”

“Yeah pro’bly, but you shouldn’t go worryin' ‘bout me. I mean, who’s the adult here?”

It was supposed to be a joke. Something to lighten the tense mood that had settled over the two of them, but the teen was still looking at him with an uneasy expression.

“It’s me,” Jon clarified, giving the ex-imperial a little frown. “I’m tha adult.”

Instead of reassuring the boy, the statement seemed to make the kid more anxious and the mechanic couldn’t find it in himself to feel insulted.

“It’s fine, kid. I can sleep when I’m dead.”

Lukas made a concerned noise at the statement and Jon allowed a slightly hysterical laugh to bubble up from his chest at the sound.

*~~*~~*~~*

His son made a delighted noise as soon as they entered the system where their group was to meet up with the mechanic and Corin grinned down at the tiny being in his arms.

“Think he senses Jon,” Din asked, glancing back at his family.

The clan of three were crowded into the cockpit. They’d taken to staying here to escape the foul mood permeating the cargo bay.

The ex-trooper watched as those big ears perked up, head swiveling around like he was trying to pinpoint the man’s location.

“Maybe,” Corin hummed. “I wish we knew more about his abilities.”

The bounty hunter made a thoughtful sound at that and nodded in agreement.

“We’ve arrived?”

The ex-imperial turned around in his seat to reveal the large Manadlorian leaning against the doorway.

“Yes,” Din confirmed, lifting his helm slightly to acknowledge the man before turning back to the controls. “We think adi’ika can sense him as well.”

“Is that right, little one,” the heavy gunner quietly asked as he moved closer and reached one large hand out to carefully touch the top of the toddler’s head.

The child cooed cheerfully at the man, ears perked and eyes bright with mirth.

“That’s a good sign,” Corin chuckled, his own mood lightening with the kid’s excitement.

“We should land within the next hour,” Din called over his shoulder.

“I’ll let the others know,” Paz grunted before disappearing down the ladder.

“He’s never going to let Jon out of his sight,” the stormtrooper mumbled, one of his hands raising to skim over a large, green ear.

“Can’t say I blame him,” his Mandalorian hums in thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alor'ad- captain  
> Vod- brother/sister


	3. Let me rage before I sleep.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paz finally finds his mechanic again, but the man's erratic behavior is stirring up a few concerns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still hate commas, but luckily WizardMoonwhisper has no such hatred so enjoy!

“Jon...”

“I see it, kid.”

“That’s where we’re meeting your friends?”

“Apparently.”

The mechanic wonders how long it’s been since Raga had visited this planet, because he doesn’t think she would have sent them here if she had known what lay ahead.

He’d almost expected a convoy of Imperial ships to be waiting for them on the other side of their jump, but what they actually saw wasn’t much better.

“Fuckin’ rebels…”

Actually, it appeared that the planet not only hosted a great number of rebels, but a full working base.

Jon eyed the readings on the ship’s console while he chewed his lip, grumbling under his breath. If he was being honest with himself, he’d rather go up against some rebels than the Imps. At least with the freedom fighters he might be able to talk his way out of getting shot, but with the kid… This was going to prove difficult.

Lukas may not look like a stormtrooper anymore, thanks in part to the spare change of clothes he’d managed to find stashed away in a locker, but there was the issue of the kid still  _ acting _ like one. Right down to the salute and quick ‘affirmative’ when Jon instructed the younger male to do something.

It was both saddening and infuriating to witness. It also appeared to be a deeply ingrained instinct at this point for the foundling.

And on a planet like the one they were quickly approaching, that habit could get Lukas killed.

They hadn’t actually heard anything from the Mandalorians. Not since Jon had received that encrypted message with this nav-point hidden within. Raga, of course, wouldn’t have known about Lukas, but the mechanic knows for a fact that Corin would have come along. Which meant that they now had  _ two _ former troopers they had to keep safe.

He hopes his friend is doing okay, because if the rebels so much as looked at Corin the wrong way, then the mechanic was going to rig their entire fleet to blow.

Huh.

Apparently, going without sleep for four whole days made Jon a little homicidal.

Good to know.

“Kid,” he sighs, swiveling around in his chair to face the boy.

Lukas is staring wide-eyed and pale-faced at the planet. He’d seen the same readings. The kid knew what that planet housed and what it could mean to him.

“It’s gonna be okay, ya hear?” He tried to keep his voice calm and soothing as he spoke, but the days of sleep deprivation was leaving him with a sharp edge and grit that normally wasn’t there.

“We’re gonna figure this out.”

“How?”

That is a very good question.

One that Jon doesn’t have an answer for, unfortunately.

He still doesn’t have a solution when their ship sets down in a heavily populated garage.

And try as he might, he can’t get his brain to shift away from the thought of turning this place into a giant fireball.

Which was a little concerning.

“Lukas,” the smaller man calls out, glancing back at the pacing ex-trooper.

“If I go out there, they’ll know and…”

“How,” Jon asks, voice slurring around the word and leaning lazily back in his seat.

The question causes the kid to pause in his tracks, wide hazel eyes turning to him. “What?”

“How’re they gonna know? You jus’ gonna introduce yerself as Lukas the ex-imperial?”

“No…”

“Then they ain’t gonna know. Not unless you or I tell ‘em and I ain’t sayin’ shit to anyone here tha’ ain’t my family.”

That seems to settle the boy, though he is still shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. The mechanic moves past the younger male and heads below deck. He knows the teenager is following him without even sparing a glance, and can hear the kid scrambling to keep pace behind him. Now he just had to ensure the teen didn’t go wandering off on his own.

“You…,” Lukas hesitates, the sound of his footfalls growing slower. “You’re not going to turn me in?”

He stumbles to an abrupt halt. Jon’s brain must have short circuited, or he was hearing things.

Were auditory hallucinations part of not sleeping for nearly 96 hours?

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles numbly, turning slowly around. “But wha’ did ya jus’ say?”

Lukas doesn’t repeat himself. Instead, his eyes dart around the hold, looking for an escape route, and Jon’s heart clenches painfully in his chest.

“No,” he snarls, taking a careful half step forward. “I ain’t turnin’ ya inta the rebels, and yer ass ain’t goin’ back at tha Imps.”

The ex-trooper’s eyes snap back up to him and the kid’s jaw  _ drops _ .

“Yer stuck with me, kid. Get used ta it.”

“But,” Lukas mutters sheepishly, arms wrapping around his torso. “What about your husband?”

Jon snorts. “Paz knows better than ta argue with me when I got my mind set on somethin’.”

There is no doubt in his head that the huge Mandalorian will immediately fall in line with his whims, but the mechanic’s word is the only reassurance that he can offer to the kid at this point. That, and the blaster he pulls from one of Paz’ weapon caches. The teen stares at him in disbelief when the mechanic holds the gun out to him.

“I’ve seen the way troopers shoot, kid, so I’m trustin’ ya not ta put a bolt through the back o’ my skull by accident.”

Lukas’ mouth quirks up into a small smile at the joke and reaches out shakily to take the weapon from him. When he turns back to check through their supplies he can see the kid cradling the gun like it’s something precious and valuable out of the corner of his eye.

Once he’s sure they have everything they might need, Jon slings his pack onto his shoulder and heads for the ramp.

He turns back as his hand hovers over the controls. “Remember, the only ones tha’ know anythin’ is you and me. Ready?”

Lukas takes a breath and slowly releases it before giving him a firm nod, tucking the blaster into the holster Jon had found alongside the weapon.

“Ready.”

*~~*~~*~~*

“Not interested.”

The rebel looks like he might argue, but then Paz clears his throat and the man quickly decides to flee when he gets a good look at the giant Mandalorian.

“That makes five,” Corin chuckles, leaning over to clean the mess of food from the child’s face as he watches the flustered twi’lek stalk away from their table.

They’d been sitting in this cantina for well over an hour and, apparently, Din couldn’t go five minutes without someone trying to offer him a job.

“You sure this is…”

“The right coordinates that Raga sent to Jon?” Corin arched a brow at the larger man, clearly unimpressed. “You’ve asked me that four times now. Yes, I’m sure, Paz.”

He’s about to apologize when movement from the entrance to the bar catches his eye.

A teenager stumbles through the doorway, clearly looking uncomfortable, but that’s not what keeps his attention.

The boy has closely cropped hair, and if it wasn’t for the poorly fitting clothing, he almost looks like he’d walked straight out of some barracks straight into the pub. 

How young was the rebellion recruiting these days?

The newcomer glances carefully around the room, eyes flitting about the other patrons before landing on their table. The kid seems to straighten, eyes going wide as he takes in Din, Corin, and the little green child.

Then those large hazel eyes turn to him. The younger male nearly takes a step back, face growing pale as he takes in the Mandalorian’s stature and Paz almost laughs, but the sound gets stuck in his throat a moment later when someone else steps into the cantina to stand beside the boy.

Jon doesn’t look any worse for wear, but it’s clear he hasn’t been sleeping. The man has deep bruises around his wildly glinting eyes and looks to be about two minutes away from stabbing someone in the face.

And he’s never looked more beautiful to Paz.

He’s vaguely aware of the scraping sound his chair makes when he stands, but his whole focus narrows down to his husband. The dull droning of the pub fades away as he moves forward, the crowd parting for his impressive size.

The kid looks like he’s a moment away from a panic attack as the large heavy gunner crosses the room, but the smaller man rests a hand on the boy's shoulder and pulls him back. The mechanic steps forward, closing the distance, and Paz draws him into a keldabe kiss.

“ _ Cyare _ ,” he breathes out, bringing a hand up to cup the back of the brunet’s head.

“Hey, big guy,” Jon murmurs softly, closing his eyes and leaning into his touch. “Ya found me.”

_ “Ni kelir ratiin mar’eyir gar.” _

His husband hums happily at that, breaking the kiss to snuggle further into his arms and presses his face into the Mandalorian’s neck. Which gives Paz a clear view of the boy, who is still hovering nervously nearby. His brows raise when he suddenly recognizes the clothing the teen was wearing. It was an old pair of work pants and an equally old shirt with part of the hem tucked away behind a blaster holstered at the younger male’s side. Those clothes belonged to one of the twins, left behind on his ship years earlier after a mission, and long forgotten when the pair had hit a growth spurt. But that blaster… that was  _ his _ blaster. One of many in his collection of weapons he kept locked away in a locker within the cargo hold.

His  _ riduur _ had given one of his weapons to this boy and brought him along… Could this mean…?

Jon must sense his shock because a moment later the mechanic is pulling back.

“A foundling,” he asks quietly, tilting his helm curiously at the teenager.

“Be nice,” the brunet warns before gesturing the boy closer. “Lukas, this is Paz.”

The boy, Lukas, cautiously edges closer, keeping Jon between him and the Mandalorian.

The move has his haunches raising instantly. Upon closer inspection, the kid almost reminds him of when he’d first met Jon; pale, far too thin, and sleep deprived.

“What’s a foundling,” the teen questions, voice lowered into a quiet whisper.

And that sends alarm bells ringing through his head. Their tribe had had its share of teenagers growing up within the covert over the years and not a single one of them had been this… eerily silent. There’s also the fact that the kid was practically cowering behind his mechanic.

His  _ cyare _ opens his mouth to reply, but a rowdy group of rebels saunter into the establishment a moment later. Lukas steps closer to Jon, trying to hide his taller frame behind the mechanic, and Jon bristles like an angry loth cat.

Paz leans forward, larger body curling over his husband to press his helm into those unruly brown locks and Jon spares him a quick look, still tense and uneasy. “Where’s the ship?”

“Parked it in a hanger a ways back,” the mechanic states with a huff, then flashes him a quick grin. “Your place or mine, big guy?”

He chuckles at the joke, pressing himself further into the smaller man’s space. This close, he can feel the way Jon’s body is trembling slightly with exhaustion.

His thoughts are derailed by the sound of footsteps approaching them and a snarl nearly rips itself from his throat when he whirls around to confront the interloper.

Din raises his hands in surrender, stopping a few paces away. “What’s the plan?”

“I’ll take Jon and Lukas back to my ship, then we all head back to the covert,” Paz states, straightening himself to stare down at the shorter Mandalorian.

“Lukas,” the bounty hunter questions, tilting his helmet slightly when he spots the boy attempting to conceal himself behind the mechanic.

“Raga’s not going to like being left behind,” Corin states as he moves to stand beside the  _ beyora _ .

The child makes a curious sound upon seeing the teen from where he’s tucked safely in the ex-trooper’s arms.

“Nah, she pro’bly wo’t, but we got ta get Paz’ ship back an’ get off this planet ‘fore I light somethin’ on fire,” Jon huffs and gives his friend a lopsided grin which Corin returns. “No offense, but I ain’t waitin’ fer her. She can yell at me when we’re all back home.”

“Our ship,” Paz corrects the man, nudging the mechanic with his hip.

That earns him a smile from his husband.

“You look shit, Jon,” the ex-imperial states with a wince, taking in the smaller man’s appearance.

“And ya look like...,” the mechanic pauses as he eyes the ex-trooper. “Shut up.”

“He couldn’t come up with a comeback,” Corin mumbles in shock before turning a glare on Paz. “Get this idiot to bed before he does something stupid.”

“Tha’s tha pot callin’ tha kettle black, an’ I’ve gone longer without sleep,” Jon protests weakly.

The larger Mandalorian stares down at the smaller man for a moment, cocking his helm. “How long exactly has it been,  _ cyar’ika?” _

“... Pretty sure somewhere ‘round 96 or 97 hours,” the mechanic mutters, refusing to meet his eyes through the helmet’s visor.

He feels his jaw drop and is vaguely aware of Din muttering curses under his breath at the information. Corin’s glare only intensifies, narrowing his eyes at the heavy gunner.

“Alright,” he mumbles, reaching a hand out to steer his husband out of the bar. “Time to go.”

He senses the moment that Lukas hesitates, unsure whether he should follow or not, but before the Mandalorian can reassure the boy Jon speaks up.

“Hey, kid,” the brunet calls out, cocking his head at the teen. “Remember wha’ I said?”

The younger male’s shifts his weight, eyes darting over their group. “That I’m stuck with you.”

Jon nods, cants his head towards the door and a second later Lukas falls into line.

The clan of three splits off to head back to the RazorCrest with a final warning look from the older ex-trooper.

They walk in silence, Paz keeping a hand on one of Jon’s shoulders and the boy keeping as close to the mechanic as he dares with the larger Mandalorian hovering nearby.

“You going to tell me what’s up with the kid,  _ cyare?” _

His husband frowns, eyeing the streets around them with suspicion. “Let’s jus’ say he an’ Corin… share tha same ex-employer.”

And suddenly the pieces are starting to fall into place for him. The twitchy, skittish behavior from Lukas. The protective way his  _ riduur _ keeps one eye on the boy and the other on the rebels milling about in the narrow paths.

The heavy gunner merely hums in reply, but straightens his posture, using his size to intimidate anyone foolish enough to step near his small clan.

When they get to the hangar, it’s to find a small group of humans standing around his ship and Paz nearly growls, but Jon breaks off to stalk forward.

“There a problem,” the mechanic asks.

An older man with greying hair eyes the mechanic before glancing over top his husband’s head to look at the Mandalorian.

That, right there, has Paz bristling.

“You own this ship?”

The heavy gunner cocks his helm, staring down at newcomer before huffing. “I believe  _ ner riduur _ asked you a question first. Awful rude to ignore someone like that.”

His voice is a deep growl and the kid shifts uncomfortably at his side.

The man clears his throat, opening his mouth then flicking his eyes down towards Jon. “I apologize…”

“Ya can apologize by fuckin’ off,” the mechanic grits out between clenched teeth, the heat of the words taking Paz off guard.

The older man flinches at the tone, eyes darting up towards the heavy gunner, and raises his hands as though trying to calm a snarling beast. “We were just going to ask if you’d be willing to do a job for us. We have credits.”

The offer is directed towards him, of course. Mandalorians are known for their skills and deathly arsenal, so hiring one almost guarantees a successful mission. However, these people obviously thought Paz was some kind of hired gun his mechanic was employing.

Oh, how wrong they were.

“Not interested,” he huffed out, sounding bored by this whole exchange.

“But…”

“He said he ain’t interested,” the brunet growled, the sound doing something to Paz’s lower stomach. “So, how ‘bout y’all jus’ piss off?”

The man glances at the mechanic, a calculating look in his eyes that has Paz’s own narrowing.

“I can offer him more credits than whatever it is you’re paying him!” 

Jon’s face goes blank and a deathly silence falls over the garage at the smug exclamation. Lukas steps closer to the Mandalorian and he shifts so the boy is half concealed behind his mass, he senses the teen’s surprise at the action, but his full focus is on his mechanic.

The brunet releases a hissing breath, face still devoid of any expression.

“I do’t think ya understand wha’s going on here,” Jon murmurs, tone carefully neutral.

The man’s brows raise up towards his hairline.

“Ya think ya can jus’ buy my husband? Ya think Paz would abandon his clan, his family, fer yer money?” The question comes out as a hiss, the mechanic’s face twisting into a snarl.

And the Mandalorian can see the exact moment the grey-haired man realizes his grave error. The man’s eyes go wide, face paling, as he stumbles back. Jon stalks forward, vibroblade suddenly appearing in his hand.

“ _ Ner kar’ta _ ,” he calls, voice in that low rumble he uses to calm the man after a night terror.

The mechanic pauses, doesn’t look back at him, but does cock his head like he’s listening.

“They aren’t worth it,” he states, ignoring the heat pooling in his stomach at this new near feral behavior from his beloved. “Come. Let’s go home.”

There’s a moment where he thinks the brunet won’t listen, and honestly, Paz wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. These people insulted not only Paz’s honor, but also Jon’s, and he would like nothing more than to break that older man over one of his knees, but now is not the time.

His husband needs sleep and they need to get their foundling home.

_ Their foundling… _

It still feels surreal to think about it.

Jon growls, shoving his knife back into it’s hidden spot in the back of his pants and turns away from the group of rebels. But not before muttering something the Mandalorian can’t quite make out that has the elder rebel baulking.

Without further incident, the three are able to pile onto his ship, but Paz doesn’t fully relax until they break through the planet’s atmosphere and jump into hyperspace.

It’s only then that he swivels around in his seat to find his husband curled into one of the copilot's chairs fast asleep. He’s pretty sure the smaller man will wake up sore from the odd position, but he’s also pretty sure the mechanic will stab him if the Mandalorian tried to move him to a more comfortable spot.

“He said he wouldn’t take me back to the Empire.”

The heavy gunner slowly turns at the sound of Lukas’ voice. The kid looks terrified, like he is expecting some kind of punishment just for opening his mouth. Especially now that the brunet wasn’t conscious. His shoulders are hunched and the kid has a white-knuckled grip on the arm rests of his chair.

“He promised,” the teen whispers, sounding a little desperate.

Paz nods, humming in thought and leaning back in his own seat. “You asked what a foundling was before.”

The teenager frowns, tilting his head curiously.

“I think I should tell you what that means…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cyare- beloved  
> Cyar'ika- sweetheart  
> ner kar'ta- my heart  
> riduur- spouse  
> Ni kelir ratiin mar'eyir gar- I will always find you  
> beyora- bounty hunter


	4. Turn your face to the sun...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paz is relieved to have his cyare back under his watchful eye and Jon makes a mistake during his sleep deprived episode. Lukas is really starting to rethink his decision to follow these two idiots.
> 
> Also, Raga is angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live! Mahahahahhhh!
> 
> Couple of notes for this chapter:
> 
> 1\. I am so, so sorry for the delay! Things happened, life happened, real world insomnia happened, and I honestly just needed to take a step away to collect myself. The stress got to me and I didn't feel like I could give this the kind of attention it deserved. I can't promise I'll update this every week like I did before, but I am committed to finishing this story! 
> 
> 2\. Without spoiling the chapter below please know I am aware that The Mandalorian show takes place 25 years (give or take) BEFORE The Force Awakens movie. I'm just having some fun with the timelines here and taking some creative freedoms with the characters.
> 
> Thank you for your patience with me, my dudes!
> 
> And a huge shoutout to WizardMoonwhisper for putting up with me both on this platform and in real-life. Love you!

_He’d been terrified that the nightmares would return if he allowed himself to rest, so it’s a pleasant surprise when they don't. In fact, Jon doesn’t dream at all. For a long while he simply floats in a quiet, void space of nothingness. The mechanic’s consciousness occasionally surfaces when well trained ears pick up the sounds of the ship around him. Each time a deep, calm voice greets him, whispering reassurances._

_“Nuhoy, cyare,” it quietly murmurs as a warm hand combs through his hair._

_He mumbles something to the voice and receives a chuckle in return._

_“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum sa pirusti, Jon. Jii nuhoy.”_

*~~*~~*~~*

When Jon next opens his eyes, the lights have been dimmed in the cabin and there’s one hell of a cramp in his neck. The brunet hisses as he tries to sit up, twisting and flailing a bit to right himself from the slumped position he’d slid into in his seat.

A quick glance shows no signs of the wayward stormtrooper, the sight of the empty chair makes his gut clench in panic.

“I sent Lukas off to sleep down below. Kid looked ready to pass out.”

The mechanic’s head snaps up in the direction of his Manadalorian’s voice. The larger man is watching him from the captain’s seat, probably had been watching over him while he slept for some time.

The thought is a comforting one.

Jon nods and runs a hand over his face, his brain is still foggy with sleep and it’s proving difficult to gather his thoughts.

“Jon…,” Paz starts, leaning forward.

“I’m sorry,” the mechanic blurts out, the words tumbling out of his mouth unbridled.

“Wha-.”

Then he’s rambling, really that’s not much of a surprise. This is Jon we’re talking about, but this was somehow different, more desperate.

Jon isn’t sure if it’s still exhaustion, or just the relief of being safely under his Mandalorian’s care, that causes the disjointed story to slip past his lips, but he can’t seem to stop the flow of words now that they’ve started. The mechanic tells his Mandalorian about the heat he’d felt from the flames in his dream, about the screams ringing out from further into the covert’s halls. The memory is enough to cause a full-bodied shudder to rack his lithe frame.

He’s nearly hyperventilating when the brunet gets to the point in his vision when Moff Gideon appears and that is when the smaller man hears the sound of hydraulic clamps hissing open.

Jon sharply looks up at Paz and freezes when concerned grey eyes stare right back at him.

His husband’s helmet is seated on one of the large man’s thighs and the Mandalorian is leaning back in the chair, watching him closely.

The mechanic’s eyes roam over the bare face before him, taking in the closely cut dirty blond hair that’s plastered to the man’s head thanks to the beskar helmet and neatly trimmed bread. There’s a faded scar on one side of the man’s face, close enough to his right eye to make the mechanic’s gut twist and wonder what could have caused such an injury.

Speaking of eyes… the pair staring back at him aren’t grey, he realizes with a start. Instead, they are a light blue. So light, in fact, that the dim lighting in the cockpit made them appear ashen at first.

The mechanic’s breath catches in his throat, his lower jaw trembling just a bit.

His Mandalorian is perfect, gorgeous even.

Jon opens and closes his mouth a handful of times before he manages to squeak out a slurred question:

“Uh, wha- wha’cha doin’ thar, big guy?”

A relieved grin pulls at the corners of Paz’ mouth and the brunet is momentarily stunned by the sight of his husband smiling.

Paz gives a small shrug. “Hopefully proving to be a good distraction, _ner kar’ta_.”

The Mandalorian’s voice is different without the helm filtering it, somehow sounding deeper. Jon swallows thickly, realizing he’s openly staring and, yeah, he should probably stop doing that...

The heavy gunner shifts into a more comfortable position. The man’s eyes sparkling with amusement, there’s also love there in those orbs and the sight causes his breathing to become labored, and raises a hand to crook a finger at him.

Jon’s mouth opens, but for once words fail him.

He numbly clambers to his feet and takes a step forward, hesitating a moment when he’s within reach of the larger man.

“This- this is okay,” Jon asks, cautiously raising a hand towards the armored man and gesturing to the exposed face.

“You are _ner riduur_. We took the vow together. You are allowed to look, to see me. All of me.” Is the gentle reminder.

Paz takes a hold of his hand a moment later to tug him the rest of the way into his lap.

The brunet finally releases the breath he’d been holding as his body curls into the warmth of his husband’s arms. He presses his face into his _cyare’s_ neck and a sob wrenches it way out of his throat.

“I _missed_ ya.”

Paz shushes him soothingly, softly whispering Mando’a into his hair.

 _“Ni ganar gar, cyare. Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,_ Jon.”

*~~*~~*~~*

When Lukas steps into the cockpit a few hours later the mechanic was awake and the tense atmosphere he’d left the two men in had shifted into something more relaxed.

Jon appears to be in some kind of daze. The mechanic’s eyes stare ahead, unblinking and transfixed by the large form of the Manadlorian. The teen would be more worried if it wasn’t for the dopey little grin tugging up one corner of the small man’s mouth.

The ex-trooper glances over to Paz for help, arching a brow at the man.

He doesn’t get an answer, but the Mandalorian seems perfectly comfortable, and a little bit smug, so Lukas eyes the mechanic for a half second longer before taking his seat.

“Sleep well?”

He nearly startles at the question, eyes darting over to the brunet.

Jon doesn’t look at him, but his head does cock to the side when he doesn’t get an immediate response.

“Uh, yeah,” Lukas mumbles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat when he realizes the Mandalorian was watching the pair from the corner of his visor. “What’s the plan now?”

Jon opens his mouth to respond, but an alarm blares to life at the same time multiple sensors light up the console bathing the cabin in an ominous red glow.

The ex-trooper freezes, watches the beskar helm of the huge warrior snap down towards the source of the alert. 

Out of the corner of his eye the mechanic has an oddly blank expression on his face.

“Jon,” Paz breathes out, it sounds like a sigh.

“Y-yeah, _cyar’ika?”_

“We’re low on fuel.”

Jon grimaces at the back of his husband’s head.

“Jon, why is the ship low on fuel?”

The Mandalorian turns slowly in his seat and tilts his helm curiously at the man. Lukas can’t help but tense up in his seat, even when he doesn’t sense any malice coming from the armored man.

“Uhm,” the mechanic frowns, eyes narrowing in thought.

“I- I thought you _did_ refuel,” the teen mumbles, eyes going wide when the alarm screeches out a second time. “On that planet where you picked me up?”

“Uh…no. No, I-uh stopped ta piece tha control panel back tagether,” the smaller man grumbles, glances at the cluster of parts still littering the floor under the ship’s console. “Still need ta fix tha’ actually.”

“Jon…,” the Mandalorian growls. “Focus.”

“Well, in my defense it _had_ been ‘while since I slept so… I _thought_ I was forgettin’ somet’ing.”

The Mandalorian lets out a string of what the teen can only assume is curses in that other language that he’d heard Jon occasionally slip into.

“You told me you hadn’t slept in 97 hours,” Paz slowly states, helm never looking away from the smaller man even as another alert blares out in the small cabin. "That wasn't exactly true, was it Jon?"

The Mandalorian reaches over to flip a switch and the siren is abruptly cut off.

Lukas has some major safety concerns about that, but wisely decides to keep his mouth shut.

“Yeah, well. It was 97 hours since I slept... _after_ I picked up Lukas,” Jon mutters, frown deepening when his eyes flick over the ship’s console. “Ya should have checked ‘fore we launched!”

The cockpit goes eerily silent with those words and neither man moves.

The ex-trooper glances nervously around the various systems then back to the two adults, only now realizing that he had no clue which light was an indicator of their fuel levels.

If he survived this, he was going to demand a lesson in ship maintenance from the mechanic.

“ _Ni ceta_ ,” Jon quietly mumbles, eyes darting over to the controls behind the large man before settling back on that beskar helm.

“We’re talking about this later,” the Mandalorian growls out, and doesn’t turn around until he gets a nod from the brunet.

*~~*~~*~~*

They manage to make it to a largely populated planet before their tanks run dry, but it’s a close thing.

Jon can tell his husband is fuming. It doesn’t help when his Mandalorian is forced to comm the _RazorCrest_ to explain why they have to make a pitstop. Both Lukas and the mechanic grimace when Din actually _laughs_ at the news.

“Asshole,” Paz snarls before ending the call.

The three breathe a collective sigh of relief when the ship finally sets down in the planet’s busy port. When the brunet steps out of the ship his face immediately contorts in disgust at the heat bearing down on him from the planet’s two suns hanging in the sky.

_Of course it had to be a desert planet._

The kid gives him a curious look when he spots the expression on the mechanic’s face. At least the teen appeared unaffected by the boiling temperature.

“Not a fan of warm weather,” Lukas asks, tilting his head when the brunet hesitates.

“Ya could say tha’.”

He assumes Din will land the _Crest_ at the edge of town, just in case they need another escape route, since he doesn’t immediately spot the familiar gunship. While his husband argues pricing with one of the port workers, Jon steers the young ex-trooper into a nearby pub that doesn’t look too dirty in the hopes of getting out of the oppressive heat. Unfortunately, it’s not much better inside of the establishment and he can feel sweat beginning to trickle down his back.

Lukas sticks close to his side, the boy’s head swiveling around to eye their surroundings, as they make their way up to the bar.

The brunet is leaning against the counter while he waits for the bartender to finish up with another patron when he senses someone step up next to him.

“Fancy seeing you here, grease-monkey,” a familiar voice teases, and Jon can’t help the snort of amusement at the term of endearment.

“Fly-boy,” Jon greets, eyeing the man in his peripheral.

None other than the infamous smuggler, Poe Dameron, grins down at him and slides a drink towards the mechanic. “Been awhile, Jon. You’re looking good.”

The brunet grunts at the man, nearly rolls his eyes when he catches the man giving him a once over and frowns down at the offered alcohol.

“Ya wan’ somethin’ from me, Poe,” he asks, keeping his voice flat and annoyed. “Cause I ain’t in tha mood.”

Beside him Lukas shifts uncomfortably, and casts a quick glance towards the doorway, clearly hoping the large Mandalorian would make an appearance soon.

“Oh, come on man. No need to be like that,” the pilot huffs, but the bravado in the man’s words eases back some at Jon’s unimpressed look. “I was just hoping to catch up… Maybe take this party somewhere else.”

The man wags his eyebrows suggestively and gives the brunet a cheeky little smile, but before the mechanic can tell the man exactly _where_ he can take his party, a new voice pipes up from behind Dameron.

“Where are we going?”

Jon leans slightly away from the bar and spots a dark skinned man blinking innocently at the pilot. Poe startles and turns sharply to the newcomer.

“Uh, well,” the smuggler stutters, caught off-guard, and mumbles out a quiet answer. “You weren’t really invited, buddy.”

The man frowns at that and the mechanic chuckles, the sound is enough to grab the stranger’s attention.

“Oh, hey there. I’m Finn,” ‘Finn’ moves forward, nudging Poe out of the way to reach out towards Jon.

Amused, and now interested to see where this was going, the mechanic takes the offered hand and gives it a firm shake. “Jon. Nice ta meet ya, Finn.”

Lukas keeps silent by his side, but the brunet knows he’s watching the exchange carefully. He also knows the kid still has the blaster. His husband hadn’t been subtle when he handed the ex-trooper the weapon back to him before they disembarked the ship.

“I’m pretty sure Poe was tryin’ ta hit on me jus’ now, bud, so don’t be offended,” Jon chuckles.

A grin tugs at his mouth when the man in question flushes a bright red.

Finn blinks owlishly, but doesn’t seem that surprised. “Oh… Oh! Uh, how was that working out for him?”

“Pretty damn poorly since I’m married.”

Poe’s jaw drops open in surprise, eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline.

“Oh, congratulations,” is Finn’s chipper response, a genuine smile stretching across his face.

“Thank ya.”

“Uh, yeah,” Poe forces out breathlessly when his friend elbows him in the side, giving the pilot a reprimanding glare. “Congrats, man. Who- ah, who's the lucky lady?”

“Me.”

Paz’ deep growl startles both men and the mechanic watches them pale when his husband saddles up to him to briefly press his helm to the top of Jon’s head. The heavy gunner checks on the teen, who is still tucked as close to the brunet as physically possible, before turning his massive form back towards the two other men at the bar.

“I don’t know him,” Finn stiffly states, jabbing his thumb at the stunned smuggler before trying to take a half step away from the looming warrior.

“Finn,” Poe barks out in desperation, making a grab at the man’s arm.

“That’s not my name.”

_Okay, Jon was right. This was proving to be amusing._

“Were they bothering you, _cyar’ika_ ,” his _riduur_ asks, tilting his helm curiously at the two.

The mechanic snorts and waves a hand dismissively.

“Nah. Poe here was jus’ tryin’ ta catch up,” he huffs. “Las’ time we saw each otha we didn’t leave on tha best o’ terms.”

The heavy gunner hums at that, remains quiet for a moment then cocks his helmet when the pieces fall into place for him.

“You dated.”

Jon gives a shrug. “Wouldn’t really call it datin’ since smugglin’ spice ‘cross tha sector meant we really didn’t see much o’ each other.”

“You dated a spice smuggler,” Raga demands, appearing out of nowhere and shoving Paz out of the way so she could crowd into the mechanic’s space to look the smaller man over for injuries.

Lukas gives a surprised yelp when the movement jostles him from his hiding place.

“You dated a Mandalorian’s husband,” Finn asks in a near shrill voice.

The two men’s panic only increases when three more of the armored warriors appear, along with Corin and the little green child in tow, who waves a tiny clawed hand at the brunet.

“He wasn’t a Mandalorian’s _anything_ when we were- together,” Poe nervously squeaked out.

Both men flinched back when five beskar helms swivel around to regard them.

“Rude,” Jon grumbles, giving the pilot an unimpressed look and somehow diffusing the tense that had been building in the air.

Paz still seemed pissed though, helm still staring down at the cowering smuggler.

“ _Ner kar’ta_ ,” the mechanic asks, reaching a hand out to tug on his husband’s arm.

His Mandalorian glancing at him for a brief moment, then flicks his helmet towards the nervous pair. “This one treated you well?”

Jon has to force down the fit of laughter that threatens to erupt from his chest.

_The over-protective di’kut._

“He wasn’t tha best boyfriend,” he chuckles, grinning at the man when Poe gives him a pleading look. “But he never hurt me.”

Paz gives a curt nod, but Raga still stalks forward with a snarled: “Leave, now!”

The pilot quickly grabs one of Finn’s arms and scrabbles away into the crowded streets outside.

Once the two are out of earshot the female warrior turns back to face the brunet with her hands on her hips.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t break both of your knees and cuff you to a bed as soon as we get back to the covert.”

“Uh,” Jon mumbles, biting his lip in thought. “‘Cause Paz would pro’ably bitch ‘bout it?”

“He’s got a point Raga,” the heavy gunner admits, pointedly ignoring Din’s snort of laughter.

Raga cocks a hip and seems to think that over for a minute.

“Fair enough, but something like this again, Jon,” Raga threatens, voice lowered into a snarl. “And not even your _riduur_ will be able to save you from me!”

He sighs, runs a hand over his face and nods. “I understand, _vod_.”

“Now what’s this about a foundling?”

Jon can _feel_ Lukas tense up behind him, can hear the way the kid’s breathing picks up in alarm.

The brunet carefully steps to the side, just enough for the others to be able to spot the teen, but not enough for the younger man to feel exposed.

“This here is Lukas.”

The Mandalorians all give the newcomer a once over, but keep their distance. Paz must have warned them about the kid’s skittish behavior. He makes a mental note to thank his husband later.

“Lukas,” Raga calls, takes a half step closer to the small clan. “Do you know what a foundling is? What it means?”

“P-Paz told me some,” the kid asks, eyes jumping over to the massive figure hovering close by before settling back on the woman. “I don’t want to go back. Jon, he treats me like a _person_. Paz, too.”

Corin grimaces at those words, looking uncomfortable enough for Din to step protectively closer.

“I want to stay.” The words are whispered barely loud enough to be heard over the noise in the pub.

The female Mandalorian gives a firm nod of her helm. “Then you will. This is the way.”

The others echo the words, Jon’s voice among them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nuhoy, cyare- sleep, beloved  
> Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum sa pirusti, Jon. Jii nuhoy- I love you as well, Jon. Now sleep.  
> ner kar’ta- my heart  
> Ner riduur- my husband/wife (spouse)  
> Ni ganar gar, cyare. Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, Jon.- I have you, beloved. I love you, Jon.  
> Cyar-ika- darling  
> Ni ceta- sorry


	5. Planetary Nebulae, Take Me Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The small clan manage to get back home without further incident, but Lukas is worried that the tribe of Mandalorians may not welcome someone like him.
> 
> Paz disagrees, and Jon is a little shit, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank everyone who commented with lovely messages from the previous chapter. I really appropriate it and they made my day! You guys are awesome. :D
> 
> Of course, WizardMoonwhisper betaed this because they are awesome and, honestly, what would I do without them?!

Thankfully, the rest of the trip back to the covert is uneventful.

Lukas can’t help the sense of dread, or the white knuckled grip he has on the armrests everytime they fall out of warp, though. This all still felt like a dream to him, like at any moment the Empire was going to appear and shatter this illusion he’d conjured up.

It never happens, and slowly he begins to relax.

Not completely, mind you. There were times when the massive Mandalorian would move a bit too quickly and Lukas would nearly jump out of his skin. Jon would hang off the other man like Paz couldn’t snap him in half without a care in the world, but it had his gut clenching in fear.

The heavy gunner never raised his voice at the smaller man though, nor did he seem like he minded the man invading his space. Paz was clearly head over heels for the brunet, if the way he swayed to the other’s whims was any indication.

However, when it came to Jon’s health? The Mandalorian was unwavering in his dedication to ensure his husband’s well-being.

The longer he traveled with these two stubborn men, the more he grew to hate his previous life as a tool for the Imps.

“I can hear you thinking back there, _ad_.”

The deep rumble of Paz’ voice jars him from the downward spiral his thoughts had started to take.

“A-ad,” he asks, wincing at the stuttered pronunciation.

He almost flinches when that beskar helmet twists around to look at him.

“Good first try, Lukas,” the Mandalorian chuckles, he doesn’t miss the _pride_ in the man’s voice. “Jon mentioned you’ve never heard Mando’a before you met him?”

By the stars, he doesn’t remember the last time he’d ever had anyone proud of him.

In retrospect, that was probably a little sad.

He coughs to try to clear weird the lump forming in his throat. “I haven’t, a-and Jon hasn’t taught me anything! I swear… I-”

“Lukas.”

The teenager snaps his jaw shut with an audible click, wide eyes staring at the large figure of the man in front of him. Paz is leaning forward a bit in the captain’s seat, hand outstretched like he was preparing to catch the boy should he need to.

“Breathe, Lukas. Just breathe. I am not angry with you. Nor would I be angry if Jon chose to teach you,” the man calmly states, shifting in the seat like he was trying to somehow make himself look smaller before snickering to himself. “Honestly, I am shocked he hasn’t.”

“He was really tired,” he mumbles numbly, heart still racing in his chest.

Paz hums in agreement. The man briefly glances at the empty seat the mechanic normally occupies.

Jon had been sent to bed several hours before. Unfortunately, someone still had to pilot the ship so the two adults had taken up shifts, leaving the teen to feel nearly useless. At least, the mechanic had taken to going over the different systems of the gunship with him, and Lukas could run below deck to fetch a ration bar if asked. When the Mandalorian was awake, however, the ex-trooper felt much like a prey animal within the den of a Rancor. It didn’t help that the man didn’t eat a lot during his time in the cockpit, which meant the teen was mostly left to his own devices.

He’d never had this much downtime on his hands.

It left him feeling nauseous.

“This isn’t going well, is it?”

He jerks his head up to look at the man. “Huh?”

“I thought giving you some space would help you feel a bit more at ease,” Paz explains, leaning back in his seat. “But you’re still jumpy around me like you expect to be punished simply for existing.”

Lukas owlishly blinks at the Mandalorian as he tries to process that statement.

“I- I’m sor-.”

“Don’t say you’re sorry, _ad._ You have done nothing wrong,” the heavy gunner grunts with a shake of his helm. “It just means I’ll have to try harder.”

The cockpit goes quiet for several minutes at that, and the man turns back to check on the control panel while the ex-trooper is left to his thoughts.

“ _Ad,_ ” this time the word comes out clear, slipping past his lips with ease. “You didn’t tell me what it means.”

Paz’ hands still over the nav-system. He feels a rush of pride in _himself_ when he remembers Jon’s teachings.

“ _Ad_ ,” the man hesitates for a moment before continuing. “It means son or daughter.”

He’s grateful that the Mandalorian doesn’t turn around after that. It gives him the privacy to try to subtly wipe away the wetness forming in his eyes.

*~~*~~*~~*

“We’ll be planetside in tha nex’ 2 hours.” 

Jon’s voice slurs around a yawn towards the end and Paz chuckles affectionately.

The mechanic glances up from the controls as the heavy gunner steps into the room and comes to hover over one of his shoulders.

“Lukas still asleep,” he asks, leaning forward to hit one of the buttons and the cockpit door hisses shut behind them.

“Yeah,” his husband sighs out, running a hand through his messing hair. “Figured I’d let ‘im sleep while he can. Shit’ll be busy once we touch down.”

The Mandalorian nods in agreement, then tilts his helm in thought.

“So,” he begins, and Jon gives him a curious look. “A spice smuggler?”

The mechanic groans, tossing his head back with a roll of his eyes.

“Wha’ can I say? I was young, dumb, and thought I was attracted ta bad boys.”

The smaller man brings both hands up to make quotation marks in the air at the term ‘bad boys’. Paz cocks his helm and Jon scowls up at him, his eyes narrowing as though daring him to continue this conversation.

Who was he to pass up a dare?

“So I’m not bad enough for you,” he teases, bumping his helm lightly against the man’s head.

The mechanic laughs, the sound loud and bright.

It’s music to the larger man’s ears.

“Nah,” his husband huffs after he’s able to get his breathing under control, a grin still tugging up one corner of his mouth. “Yer too good ta be true sometimes.”

He hums, fingers reaching up to click open the hydraulic locks of his helm. His husband’s eyes widen as he pulls the _buy’ce_ off and sets it aside.

“Fuck,” Jon softly hisses out, eyes tracing over his features.

It’s a little disconcerting to bare his face openly to another after so many years of it remaining hidden under his armor, but Jon staring up at him with so much love in those green eyes is a balm to his nerves.

He arches a brow at the man and his mechanic breaks out in a blinding smile.

“Yer gorgeous,” he murmurs before twisting in his seat to reach up and cup Paz’ face between both hands, pulling the larger man down into a kiss.

He’d never really considered himself that attractive, honestly, but certainly wasn’t going to argue the point right now. Not when his husband stretched one of his hands up to run fingers through his hair while the other played with his bread.

He huffed when the mechanic reluctantly pulled away, leaning forward to try and capture those lips again. Jon laughs, ducking his head playfully out of the way before pulling the Mandalorian down to press their foreheads together into a _kov’nynir._

“Thank ya fer lettin’ me bring tha kid along.”

The words are whispered quietly with so much reverence that it leaves Paz momentarily breathless.

He has to clear his throat before being able to respond.

“You bring me great honor by bringing a foundling into our clan, Jon,” he rumbles, lifting a hand up to cup the back of his husband’s head. “By the stars, you do me great honor by simply choosing to stay by my side.”

Jon gently smiles at him, eyes never leaving his when he speaks.

“Not a hard choice ta make. Thar’s nowhere I’d rather be, big guy.”

*~~*~~*~~*

Lukas wakes up just in time to witness their approach to the planet’s surface. He scurries into the cockpit to take his seat, staring wide-eyed out of the front viewing port.

Jon shoots him a grin, but keeps a close watch on the kid as his husband pilots them towards the covert’s location.

The slightly darkened circles under the kid’s eyes don’t escape him. He just hopes the insomnia is from nerves and not anything else more serious.

Before he can dwell on that any longer, though the kid shifts around to glance at him with a worried expression.

“W-what’s going to happen when we land?”

“Well,” Paz begins, visor never leaving the control panel. “Ghas will probably be waiting in the hanger-”

“Wha’? Why?”

The Mandalorian pauses, then turns his helm to look back at him.

“ _Cyare,_ how long did you go without sleep? And don’t try to tell me 97 hours.”

The mechanic frowns. “Ah, I’m not real good at math-”

“-Jon.”

“How many hours are in a week,” he asks after a moment’s hesitation.

Both Paz and the kid make an odd choking noise, the sound has him sinking further into his seat.

“By the stars,” Lukas breathes out. “How are you still alive?”

“Well, if ya wanna get real technical, a human can go wit’out sleep fer a little over 11 or so days ‘fore ya gotta worry about dyin’-”

“How do you know that,” his husband demands, voice an octave higher than normal.

“Do ya really wanna know?”

The larger man goes silent, and Jon watches his hands hover over the ship’s instruments. It takes him a moment to realize the man is shaking just slightly.

“No,” Paz grits out. “No, I don’t.”

The heavy gunner goes quiet for a moment and Jon runs a hand through his hair, beside him the kid squirms uncomfortably.

His husband lets out a bone deep sigh. “Have you told Lukas how we met?”

He blinks up at the question in confusion.

“Nah, why?”

“Because now _I’m_ the one that could use the distraction, and silence makes the kid uneasy.”

The ex-trooper sits up straighter in his seat, looking shocked.

Of course, his husband would notice. Not much gets past a Mandalorian.

He hums in thought, leaning back in his seat and throws a smirk towards the kid.

“Well, I’d jus’ put in a letter o’ resignation when this tall, armored drink o’ water walks inta tha garage-”

“Wait,” Paz barks, stealing a glance at him from over one massive shoulder before he’s forced to return his attention to the ship’s systems. “You were quitting?”

“Yeah,” Jon laughs. “I mean ya met the guys tha’ worked thar’, course I wanted out. If ya had come jus’ a few days later we pro’ably wouldn’t ‘ave met.”

 _“Jate’kara,”_ the Mandalorian whispers in an odd tone of voice.

The word is definitely Mando’a, though it’s not one he’s familiar with. He tries dissecting it into smaller terms like Raga had taught him. He knew _jate_ meant good, but _kara_ gives him a harder time.

“So, what happened,” Lukas asks hopefully, glancing between the two of them.

He eyes his Mandalorian for a moment longer before turning back to the kid.

“Ya should ‘ave seen those idiots,” he smirks at the memory. “Cowerin’ in tha back like a Mando wouldn’t ‘ave been able ta kick down tha’ flimsy door.”

“And if I remember correctly you strutted right up to me with no regard to your own safety.”

“Ya wouldn’t ‘ave hurt me,” the mechanic waves a hand dismissively.

Paz snorts, shaking his helmet.

“No, I wouldn’t have.”

*~~*~~*~~*

The banter is enough to make him forget what’s happening outside the ship for a short time. Lukas watches the two men tease each other, bouncing jokes back and forth like it’s a game of catch. 

Whenever one breaks out into laughter the other would preen in delight.

It’s comfortable, relaxed.

Is this what it was like to have a family? A home?

When the gunship finally sets down within the covert’s hanger it’s like a bucket of cold water is dumped over him.

“Hey,” Jon calls out to him, and one of his hands comes to rest on his shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay, kid.”

He gives a shaky nod in reply, suddenly not trusting his voice.

Jon keeps a hold of his shoulder, the pressure there is grounding, and Paz hovers behind the pair protectively. The close proximity of the larger man would normally put him on edge, but now… it’s oddly reassuring.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when the outer door hisses.

The mechanic frowns at the noise, briefly pulling his attention away from the world outside.

The heavy gunner sighs, tipping his helm back to glance towards the ceiling. “Ghas first, _cyar’ika._ If you get a clean bill of health, then you can tear our ship apart.”

Lukas turns back towards the open doorway and freezes.

There is an armored figure waiting at the base of the ship's ramp already. A Mandalorian wearing green armor and holding a scanner in one hand, that had to be ‘Ghas’ if he had to guess.

 _“Alor’ad,”_ the man greets as they descend the gangway, then immediately activates the medical device in his hand once the mechanic is within range.

“Hello ta ya too, Ghas,” Jon mumbles irritably, but doesn’t move a muscle until the man is finished.

“Jon,” the Mandalorian replies, tsking at the readings. “Do you want to tell me what you’ve done or would you like to take this to the medbay?”

The brunet makes a disgruntled sound, but before he’s able to come up with a sarcastic response Paz speaks up: “What happens if a person doesn’t sleep for a week?”

The medic freezes, and Lukas can imagine the wide-eyed stare under the man’s visor.

“I’ve slept now,” Jon huffs out quietly, but he refuses to look up his suddenly very interesting boots.

Ghas sighs, one hand running down the front of his helm. “Bed rest, _vod._ Two weeks.”

The smaller man bristles, eyes narrowing on the Mandalorian.

“Thar ain’t nothin’ wrong with me! Ya can’t jus’-”

“I don’t care,” the medic shouts, throwing his hands up. “You’re on bed rest for two weeks. Argue with me, Jon, and I’ll sedate you then add another week on.”

The mechanic grits his teeth and hisses a breath out in an obvious attempt to reign in his temper before glaring at the Mandalorian from the corner of his eye.

“Fine,” the man huffs, then motions towards Lukas. “If yer done wit’ me then give the kid a look over, ya quack.”

 _“Di’kut,”_ the Mandalorian grunts out without missing a beat, then pauses. “Kid?”

Lukas shrinks back when the medic’s helm locks into him and backs right into Paz. One of the Mandalorian’s large hands grabs at his bicep to steady him.

The heavy gunner says something to the Ghas, but the ex-trooper couldn’t hear it over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. Jon suddenly steps into view, grabbing both his shoulders and giving them a firm squeeze.

“Hey, yer alright, kid,” the mechanic quietly tells him. “Jus’ breathe fer me. Nobody is gonna hurt ya. They’ll hav’ta get past me and Paz ‘fore tha’ happens.”

The large Mandalorian carefully releases the hold he had on the teen’s arm and turns back to the medic. The two armored warriors began speaking quickly in Mando’a, but Jon pulls his attention away from the Mandalorians before his thoughts could begin to spiral again.

“Ya know, when I said we could take turns havin’ panic attacks I didn’t mean tha’ literally, _ad,”_ the smaller man teases, but he can see the concern lingering on the man’s face.

His gut twists with guilt.

“I’m so-.”

“Lukas,” Jon interrupts him, the next words are spoken slowly. “Stop sayin’ yer sorry. Ya ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”

“I-,” he pauses, cutting himself off before the apology could slip past his lips. “Okay.”

Jon nods, giving him a reassuring smile before waving Ghas towards them.

He thinks the brunet would step back then, give the medic room to work, but instead the man stays firmly planted by his side.

“You don’t do anything half-assed do you, _vod,”_ the other Mandalorian asks. “Running off with Paz’ gunship, coming back with a foundling, and going without sleep for a week. At least, you’re consistent.”

Lukas can hear the smirk in the Mandalorian’s voice as he watches the man slowly run the scanner over his frozen form.

“Hey,” Jon laughs nervously next to him. “If we could jus’ keep tha’ last part quiet I’d be really grateful-.”

“A week?!”

The mechanic’ eyes go wide, fixed on a point just past his shoulder, and his face crumples into a grimace.

The ex-trooper follows the man’s line of sight to see Raga hovering a short distance away, clearly fuming if he was deciphering her body language properly.

The others he’d met on that rebel planet were giving the woman a wide berth, the only non-Mandalorian man throwing the brunet an apologetic smile.

“Oh kriff,” Jon mutters, shrinking into himself a bit.

“Oh kriff, indeed,” Ghas chuckles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ad- son/daughter  
> buy'ce- helmet  
> kov’nynir- headbutt (Keldabe kiss)  
> Cyare- beloved  
> Cyar’ika- darling  
> Jate’kara- luck, destiny  
> Vod- brother/sister  
> Di’kut- idiot


	6. Life Goes On, And You're Still Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that his small clan is safely back amongst his tribe, Paz and Jon ask Lukas to make a decision that could have a lastly effect on the boy's future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have returned with a vengeance!
> 
> Once again, huge shout out to both my beta reader, WizardMoonwhisper, and every single one of you!
> 
> 🎃 (Here's pumpkin emoji instead of a heart cause, you know, it's spooky season.)

Paz knew he wasn’t a genius by any stretch of the imagination, but there were times where he had his moments of clarity.

Like the first time he called Corin _vod._

Or when he decided to bring Jon along with him.

Or, like right now, when he decided to stay out of this particular battle.

The Mandalorian pointedly kept Raga and Jon within his vision’s peripherals while the female loudly berated his mechanic over the man’s complete lack of self-preservation. She’d dragged the man a fair distance away from the larger Mandalorian’s side as soon as she'd gotten a satisfied nod from Ghas, and launched into a tongue-lashing that would normally leave far larger men quaking in their beskar armor. Impressively enough, the smaller man hadn’t cowered under the verbal assault.

Though, honestly, the heavy gunner didn’t think the best course of action for the smaller man was to shout _back_ at the enraged woman.

He wisely chose to keep his distance and focus, instead, on the wide-eyed foundling watching the two stubborn _vod’e_ tear into each other.

The medic snickered quietly as a crowd began to form, curious onlookers attracted by the sheer volume of the shouting match. The larger Mandalorian even spotted several of his tribe starting to take bets on who would win this contest of wills.

“Be at ease, Lukas,” Paz murmurs, reaching out to lay a large hand on the boy’s shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “They’ll tire themselves out before it comes to blows.”

_Hopefully._

The teen cast him a dubious look, but didn’t try to shrug off his hand so he chalked that up as a win.

“I’m honestly surprised Jon is still on his feet,” Ghas hums.

“He got a few hours sleep on the way home,” the larger Mandalorian grunts, shrugging one massive shoulder. “But I don’t think it was… uninterrupted sleep.”

The medic pauses, glancing up from his medical device, and Paz can almost feel the narrowed gaze of the doctor through their visors.

“He told me he sleeps better when you're around,” Lukas mumbles quietly, eyes flickering up to Paz before as he throws a worried look towards the _still_ quarreling pair.

Before he’s able to respond Ghas shifts back, humming disapprovingly at the scanner in his hands. He’d turned his scrutiny towards the teen as soon as Raga had pulled Jon away a few minutes before.

“Well,” the medic starts, sparing a quick glance at the teen before meeting the heavy gunner’s visor. “I’ve seen worse, but-.”

Going by the tone of voice, Paz is able to imagine a grimace on the man’s face.

“How bad,” he asks, lowering his voice so that the screaming from across the hanger is enough to drown out their conversation.

“The boy is not in any danger of _dying_ , but it’s still isn’t good,” Ghas grumbles, fingers flying over the device in his hands as he reads off the data.

He spares the boy a quick look and, finding the ex-imperial’s attention completely engrossed in the two shrieking adults, nods at the doctor to continue.

Ghas heaves a sigh and runs a hand down the front of his helm.

“Where to begin,” the medic huffs. “First concern is the malnutrition-.”

“Malnutrition,” Paz numbly repeats, stomach clenching.

He had known. Of course he had. 

Even if he hadn’t had the experience of watching over Jon’s progress himself, it was hard to miss the gaunt frame, the sunken cheekbones, and the way the boy hunched over food like he feared someone might swoop in to take it from him.

Knowing didn’t make it any easier to hear the confirmation, though.

Ghas gives him a moment to process that small bit of information, waiting silently until Paz’s breathing seems to calm before continuing.

“He also has two broken ribs and a sprained wrist.”

The heavy gunner cocks his helmet, considers that. “He hasn’t been favoring a hand.”

“High pain tolerance most likely,” Ghas grunts, turning to eye Corin nearby. “Not unlike someone else we know. Broken ribs are hard to brush off, but if his firing arm is the one injured-.”

“I would have ignored it too,” Paz grumbles.

He understands, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t angry.

Ghas straightens suddenly, helm tilting to glance over his shoulder.

It takes a moment for him to register that the room had gone silent. Deadly silent.

The larger man twists around, and freezes.

Raga and Jon are standing toe to toe, crowding into each other’s space. The woman looks two seconds from strangling the smaller man, hands curling into tight fists at her side. His mechanic’s face is twisted into a feral snarl, his body shuddering with barely restrained rage and exhaustion.

For a heart stopping moment, Paz thinks he may have made a grave miscalculation.

He wasn’t close enough to his _riduur_ to take the brunt of a blow, should the woman decide to strike out at the mechanic.

And Paz knew from personal experience just how hard Raga could punch.

Everyone in the hanger held their collective breath, a few members of the crowd shifting uncomfortably.

Next to him, Lukas chews on one of his thumb nails nervously, and the Mandaorian finds himself wondering if it was one from his wounded hand.

It’s Raga, surprisingly, that breaks first.

The woman lunges forward, quick as a snake, to pull the smaller man into a bone-crushing hug.

Jon grunts as he’s nearly lifted off his feet.

“I’m sorry, _vod_ ,” the man wheezes out, face pressed painfully into one of the woman’s pauldrons.

“Do anything like that again and I _will_ shoot you, _Jon’ika_ ,” Raga snarls, but there is no real heat to her words.

The crowd hovers for a moment, but when it’s clear that there won’t be an actual physical altercation many of the other members of the tribe begin to trickle out of the hanger.

Paz does a double take when several Mandalorians walk right up to a smug looking Corin and press a few credits into the man’s waiting palm.

Huh.

The Mandalorian tilts his helmet down to check on the foundling at his side and takes in the boy’s confused expression.

“See,” he chuckles, waving a hand towards the two siblings. “I told you there was nothing to worry about.”

Lukas arches a brow at him, still looking a little frazzled.

“You’re all insane,” the teen mutters.

The heavy gunner doesn’t deny it, because he’s probably got a point.

“But you still decided to follow Jon, so what does that say about you, kid,” Corin asks, tone delighted as he counts his winnings.

Behind the ex-trooper, Din breathes out a bone-tired sigh and shakes his helm.

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

A few hours later, Paz finds himself gently trying to herd his _cyare_ and their foundling towards their room, but Raga holds out a hand to stop the trio.

“Where do you think you’re going,” the woman asks.

There’s still a hard edge to her voice, so he bites his tongue before a sarcastic retort can slip from his mouth.

“To sleep?”

The woman snorts. “You expect to fit three people in that old cot, _Alor’ad?”_

The larger Mandalorian spares a quick glance at his small clan. Both the teen and his mechanic look dead on their feet, the warm meal they’d just finished lulling them into a near comatose state.

He quickly reaches out a hand to steady Lukas when the boy lists dangerously to the side.

“You have another idea?”

Raga levels him with, what he can only assume is, an unimpressed look beneath her helm.

“Of course, _di’kut,”_ she hisses out.

The woman steers them down another corridor, one he recognizes almost instantly as the same one Din’s room is located. In fact, they pass the other clan’s door before his _vod_ pauses in front of an open doorway.

Stepping inside, he realizes this was one of the flats designed to house a family rather than one or two Mandalorians alone. It wasn’t spacious, none of the accommodations within their covert was, but it did have two separate bedrooms and a refresher along with a small sitting area where they now stood.

Lukas peeks his head inside, hovering on the threshold.

The mechanic pokes the kid in the side as he carefully nudges the foundling towards the bedroom on the left.

“Get some sleep, _ad._ ‘Fore ya pass out on tha floor.”

The teenager hesitates, eyeing the new quarters around them warily before slowly shuffling into his new room.

Raga turns to Jon, cocking a hip and crossing her arms over her armored chest. “I’m not going to have to worry about you disappearing in the middle of the night, am I?”

“No, _vod,”_ Jon sighs, shoulders slumping and exhaustion dripping from his voice. “I’ll be good.”

The woman gives a terse nod, seems to accept that, and makes herself scarce after bidding them a good night.

Paz debates trudging back to their old accommodations to retrieve what few clothes they have, but one look at his _riduur’s_ drained state holds him back.

“You didn’t sleep well on the ship.”

Jon presses the heels of both hands hard into his eye sockets, letting out a groan of frustration.

The mechanic stumbles into the other bedroom, and as soon as he’s close enough to their new bed begins to peel off his clothing.

“Nah, I didn’t,” the brunet confesses with a mirthless laugh, then turns red rimmed eyes towards the heavy gunner. “No real surprise thar, big guy.”

The Mandalorian follows close behind his husband, brain misfiring when he spots the bare skin on display from the other man. He must make some kind of noise because Jon throws him a playful smirk over one shoulder as he’s unlacing his boots.

Ensuring their door is firmly closed, he too begins to remove his outer layers. His armor and weapons are carefully discarded, and his mechanic bats his hands away to move them into a neat pile next to the bed, within easy reach. While Jon works on that, Paz pulls off his undersuit. He pauses for a moment before shucking off his helmet as well and hands it off to the smaller man.

It still causes his nerves to stand on end every time the other man’s gaze lingers a little too long on his face. Paz isn’t used to feeling this exposed, but he forces himself to smile reassuringly at his _riduur._

Jon’s keen eyes narrow, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth before he holds the _buy’ce_ back out towards the heavy gunner.

“If ya ain’t feelin’ comfortable goin’ without then put it back on, _cyare,”_ the mechanic quietly murmurs. “Ya won’t hurt my feelin’s none.”

He would be lying if the idea wasn’t appealing, but Paz reaches out a hand to cover one of Jon’s considerably smaller one.

“You are my _riduur-.”_

“Paz,” the mechanic interrupts, voice stern enough to give him pause. “I love ya and I _know_ you love me. Tha’ ain’t in question here. What is, is yer comfort. Ya’ve worn ya helmet longer than ya’ve known me, stands ta reason it’d take some gettin’ used ta not always have ta wear it. Like I said, ‘ya won’t hurt my feelin’s none’. Yer worth tha wait.”

The Mandalorian’s throat suddenly closes around whatever argument he’d being trying to conjure up, instead he reaches a shaking hand out to pluck the armor out of Jon’s hands. He sets the beskar helmet aside and surges forward to pull the man into a kiss.

His husband squeaks at the action, and Paz wraps one huge arm around the smaller man's waist while the other hand gently comes up to cradle the back of his mechanic's head.

After getting over his initial shock, Jon melts into the embrace and returns the kiss with enthusiasm. The Mandalorian growls when the mechanic nips at his lower lip playfully and takes a hold of the man’s rear in retaliation. When his husband gasps the larger man wastes no time in licking into that warm mouth and earns a heady whimper for his troubles.

He intends to escalate things, to push his mechanic into their shared bed and worship every part of him, but luck is not with them this night. Jon’s legs buckle unexpectedly underneath him and Paz is forced to tighten his hold on the man’s hips to keep him upright.

He pulls his head back and the mechanic turns away, the man burying face into his neck and letting out a shuddering breath.

“Jon,” the Mandorian asks anxiously, one hand sweeping down the bare body of his _cyare_ to search for any injuries Ghas may have missed.

“Sorry,” the man slurs drowsily into his neck. “Jus’ so kriffin’ _tired._ ”

The mechanic goes completely limp in his arms and Paz feels more than hears the soft snore against his throat. He huffs out a laugh, taking the additional weight easily and scoops the brunet up into his arms before moving towards their bed.

Once he’s deposited the slumbering man onto the cot, the Mandalorian turns the lights off, then carefully slides under the sheets alongside his _riduur._ He shifts around to get comfortable, gathering the lithe form of the other man into his arms and curls around him protectively. Paz delicately runs fingers through the unruly hair tucked under his chin.

The heavy gunner doesn’t remember falling asleep.

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

The sound of tentative knocking rouses Jon from a deep sleep. Without windows or a chrono, it’s hard to keep tabs on the exact time within the covert, but he assumes it must be morning. He can’t help the groan of annoyance, trying to burrow back under the warmth next to him when a hand soothingly combs through his hair.

The mechanic sighs, happy and comfortable, but something still nags at the back of his brain.

Like he’s forgetting something.

It can’t be that important, right?

“Fuck, the kid,” the brunet yelps, clawing his way out of the mess of blankets and sitting up to stare wide-eyed at the door.

Jon suddenly flushes a deep red, scrambling for the covers when he remembers at the last moment that both he and his husband sleep in the nude.

“It’s fine,” Paz grumbles into his pillow, voice deeper with the remnants of sleep. “I locked the door last night.”

“Oh thank tha stars,” the smaller man sighs, falling backwards onto the bed.

The Mandalorian grunts when the mechanic lands on top of him. “We should probably get up.”

“Yeah, pro’bly.”

Neither man moves, and the brunet is just starting to drift off again when a soft voice is heard on the other side of the bedroom door.

“Jon,” Lukas calls out, voice low and hesitant. “Paz?”

“We’re up,” he replies back as he pushes himself up and tries to hide another groan by cupping both hands over his face. “We’ll be out in a minute, _ad.”_

He gets a quiet ‘okay’ before the kid retreats, footfalls growing soft as he moves away.

The mechanic sweeps a hand through his hair in a hasty attempt to tame the unruly nest adorning his head and reaches out a hand to lightly smack his Mandalorian’s bicep.

He gets another sleepy grunt for his trouble.

Huffing, Jon climbs over the larger form of the other man to start picking through their clothing. He grimaces when he realizes they hadn’t gone back for their clean garments last night.

Oh, well. He’d just have to make due.

Once he’s mostly dressed, Jon sits heavily on the edge of the bed, glancing back at the heavy gunner from over one shoulder.

“Wha-,” he pauses, chewing on his bottom lip, and watches his _riduur_ slowly push himself onto his elbows so their eyes can meet. “What happens now?”

Paz frowns, tilting his head to the side curiously. “What happens? You mean with Lukas?”

Jon’s eyes flicker briefly over to the door, he feels the bed shift and one massive arm pulls him against the big man’s side.

“We take the vow,” the Mando states simply, confidently. “If that is what he wishes, that is. He becomes our _ad,_ our son. We give him a good home.”

“Then?”

The large Mando shrugs. “I’m as new to this as you, _cyar’ika._ But we’ll figure it out together.”

The brunet can’t help the dry laugh that slips out at that, watching as his heavy gunner pulls himself out of their bed to pull his own clothes on, then his guts twists when he remembers the argument with his _vod_ yesterday.

Shit, was it really only yesterday? It felt like a lifetime along. Thanks, sleep deprivation…

“Oh kriff,” he moans, running both hands through his hair and giving the locks a firm tug. “I’m gonna hav’ta apologize ta Raga.”

Paz cocks his head, frown deepening with worry. “You _did_ already.”

Jon blinks. “I did?”

His Mandalorian twists around to give him an incredulous look, and the mechanic squirms a bit at the expression.

“So,” he begins, ducking his head so he doesn’t have to see his husband's face. “Guess I’m goin’ ta see Ghas taday.”

“Y-you saw him yesterday, too.”

“Oh.”

“Kriff, Jon.”

They fall into a tense silence then, the only sound is the Mandalorian carefully clicking the various beskar armor pieces into place. Once the last of it is in place Paz turns fully to hover over the man's hunched form.

“Your memory is normally better than this, _ner kar'ta.”_

Jon gives a little shrug. “It can get… spotty when I haven’t slept fer a while.”

They hear movement from the other room, the brunet glancing up towards the sound before cutting his eyes towards the larger man.

“Shouldn’t leave ‘im waitin’.”

His Mandalorian gives a curt nod, still looking worried, before he jams the _buy’ce_ back onto his head and moves towards their door.

The mechanic scrambles up to follow his _riduur_ out and blinks dumbly at what he sees.

Lukas is standing stiffly in the middle of the sitting room, hands folded behind him in a parade rest and Jon eyes his husband tense in the corner of his eyes.

“Kid,” he asks cautiously.

The teen turns sharply at the sound of his voice, seems to realize what he’s doing, and allows his arms to fall limply at his side.

“I… Sorry, it… um-.”

“An old habit,” Jon asks.

When Lukas nods shamefully in response, he gives the kid an encouraging smile.

“It’s alright, _ad._ Jon has several of his own patterns he’s still trying to break,” Paz chuckles, but his voice still sounds a little off.

The brunet gives his _riduur_ a playful little pout. “That… okay, that’s fair I guess.”

The tension seems to drain from the boy’s shoulders as he watches the pair share banter, but then he clears his throat nervously.

“I… what’s going to happen?”

“Jon and I were talking about that earlier, actually,” Paz glances at him and the smaller man gives him a supportive nod. “We want to know if you’d like to join our clan.”

Lukas’ eyes grow wide, coloring draining from his face. “How… what do I have to do?”

“Nothin’ ya do’t wanna do, kid,” he reassures. “We take a vow, but it’s still yer _choice_ ta accept it.”

The teen goes quiet, worrying his bottom lip. When he looks up at the two again, his eyes have a determined gleam to them.

“I… I want that.”

Jon can suddenly breathe easier, like a great weight had finally been removed from his chest and he can’t help the stupid little grin that stretches across his face. He looks over to his husband who seems to be standing straighter, prouder almost.

“Then let us begin.”

The mechanic blinks, tilts his head back to look up at his husband.

“Right now?”

Paz shrugs. “Do you have somewhere to be?”

The brunet glares up at the man. “Smart ass.”

“You love me,” the Mandalorian states, without a hint of uncertainty in his tone.

“Lucky fer ya,” Jon huffs, throwing a grin up towards the large man. “I do.”

Paz chuckles, bending down to nuzzle his helm to the top of Jon’s head, then straightens to focus his attention on the teen.

The Mandalorian inclines his head towards the boy. “Lukas, _ni kyr’tayl gai sa’ad.”_

 _“Ni kyr’tayl gai sa’ad,”_ Jon repeats back, then, taking mercy on the kid’s confused expression, translates. “I know your name as my child.”

Behind the mechanic, the sound of hydraulic clamps releasing causes the teenager’s eyes to snap up. The brunet can’t help the fond smirk that stretches across his face when Lukas’ jaw drops open in shock. He glances lovingly up at his husband’s bare face, leaning his weight into the man’s bulk.

“Welcome to the family _, ad_ ,” Paz grunts, a shy little smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vod- brother/sister (Vod'e- Plural)  
> Riduur- spouse, husband/wife  
> Cyare- beloved  
> Alor'ad- Captain  
> Di'kut- idiot  
> Buy'ce- helmet  
> Ad- son/daughter  
> Cyar'ika- darling  
> Ner kar'ta- My heart  
> Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad- adoption vow - lit. "I know your name as my child."


	7. This Home is Full of Love... And Mandalorians.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lukas is trying his best to settle into covert life, and not get in anyone's way. While Jon is trying to figure out how this whole 'dad' thing works.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M ALIVE!
> 
> I am so, so sorry for taking so long to update! Life happened, then I got a new job, and more life happened.
> 
> And, of course, I gotta give a shoutout to WizardMoonwhisper for throwing down those hot commas and doing just fantastic work as my beta.
> 
> And also putting up with me while I was trying to figure out how to word again...

Lukas refused to leave Jon’s side during their journey back to the tribe, and things didn’t change much once they were within the safety of the covert. The kid was a constant quiet, solemn shell that trailed behind the brunet through the sheltered halls like some kind of haunting presence. The only difference now was the fact that the mechanic had a third, and sometimes fourth, shadow that watched over the pair.

Paz hovers because of course he does, but at this point, Jon is used to the way his husband expresses his concern, so he just takes it in stride.

Then the heavy gunner employs other Mandalorians to keep an eye on them, and Jon can only roll his eyes at the treatment, unimpressed by his husband’s resourcefulness.

The others may not hound them like his  _ vod’e,  _ specifically Raga, but when the brunet and his  _ ad _ enter a room, nearly every beskar helmet swivels to watch the duo with single minded focus.

The first few times, he simply believes the others are curious about the new foundling, but have been warned off from approaching by his own overprotective Mandalorian.

It quickly becomes apparent to him, though, that that wasn’t the case.

The Mandalorians like to think they’re being subtle about it, but the mechanic wouldn’t have lasted long on his own if he couldn’t sense when he was being watched. The sensation of eyes on his back makes his skin crawl, the hair on his neck stand on end, and that is a reaction to being tracked by those he knows are simply concerned for his well being.

He doesn’t have to guess how the kid feels about it, he can see it in the tense line of the teen’s shoulders.

If he makes a bit more effort to stand out, and pull the scrutiny away from Lukas, well that was no one’s business but his own.

The teenager, however, remains uneasy, not used to having the unwavering attention of an entire tribe of armed warriors watching his every move.

He can empathize with the boy’s behavior. In his own childhood, being noticed was often followed by pain.

Jon knew that Paz had other duties that might keep him from his self-appointed role of protector of his small  _ aliit _ . He also knew that the man was a worrier, so he had expected Raga and the twins to step in, but this… this was getting ridiculous.

“He pulled ya inta babysittin’ duties, too?”

Din sighs, but otherwise doesn’t respond, and the brunet quirks a brow at him.

“Wha’s he got on ya,  _ beyora?” _

The baby in the Mandalorian’s arms coos happily, waving one tiny clawed hand at Jon.

Smiling, he waves back at the toddler before glancing across the room to where Corin was speaking quietly to his own  _ ad. _

“Can’t I just do my  _ vod _ a favor by watching over his unruly better half?”

Jon snorts. “Nah, ya two like ta argue too much fer this ta be a favor. Which means-.”

Din shifts uncomfortably as the brunet side-eyes him.

“-Corin either roped ya inta this, or-,” he pauses here, almost grins when the bounty hunter twitches. “Paz’s got some’in’ on ya.”

The Mandalorian pointedly looks away. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Which is all the confirmation that the mechanic needs to know he’s on the right track.

“Sure ya do’t,” Jon hums smugly, allowing a smirk to spread across his face at the man’s denial.

“Why exactly are you tormenting  _ me?” _

The brunet’s grin widens at the question, watching as the bounty hunter bristles at the expression.

“Cause Paz ain’t here an’ I’m on ‘bed rest’,” the man responds, going so far as to use finger quotes and a heavy look of disdain to show just what he thinks of Ghas’ medical recommendations. “So I hav’ta get my en’ertainment somehow.”

Din goans, head rolling back to stare up at the ceiling, and Jon chuckles.

They both lax into a long silence, the only sound coming from the two ex-troopers quietly conserving in the corner.

He turns his eyes back to his  _ ad,  _ the smile slipping from his face and replaced by a slowly forming frown. He hasn’t seen much improvement in the kid’s emotional state since arriving in the underground bunker. Sure, Lukas was eating, probably to an excess, but neither he nor Paz had the heart to deny the boy anything. However, the teenager was jumpy here, even around those Jon held closely.

He has to remind himself that the kid had only been there a few days so far, and the boy wasn’t like himself. Jon thrived in the covert, because he was the chatly lovable mechanic that was easy to get along with, according to his  _ riduur. _

Paz might be a bit biased, though.

Lukas was scared of his own shadow, and the brunet could blame it on the cruelty of the Empire that had taken a perfectly innocent child from whatever planet the boy had called home to try to make him into a mindless killing machine.

If Jon hadn’t depised the Imps before, he hated them with a burning passion now.

“Jon.”

He startles, head snapping back around so fast the room tilts dangerously, and he feels a hand clamp down on his elbow.

Din comes into focus, helm cocking in a way that’s an odd parallel of Paz when he’s upset or concerned.

“Where did you go, Jon?”

The brunet’s frown deepens, glancing back towards Lukas and the Mandalorian’s helmet follows his gaze.

Corin is blissfully unaware of what had just transpired, but the teenager’s eyes are locked onto them from across the room with a look that tells Jon that the boy is trying to figure out if the bounty hunter was a threat to the mechanic, or not.

Jon nearly snorts, but manages, instead, to give the kid what he hopes is a reassuring look.

“He’ll be okay.”

He turns just enough to look at Din from the corner of his eye. “Speakin’ from experience?”

There’s no hesitation when the Mandalorian answers with a firm: “Yes.”

Jon hums. There’s a story there, but he doesn’t push for it.

“It may take time, and patience, but he’ll be okay.”

“Even’ually,” he wonders, and Din nods slowly.

“Eventually,” the Mandalorian confirms softly. “So don’t lose hope,  _ vod.” _

“I jus’-,'' Jon pauses, chewing his lip and the Mandalorian tilts his helm. “I barely managed ta get myself outta a shitty childhood wit’out dyin’ in a back alley. I do’t know how ta raise a kid, or help one tha’s so-”

“Broken?”

The mechanic grits his teeth, nearly snarling at the other man when he replies. “Tha kid ain’t broken. He’s jus’-”

Jon goes quiet, and Din patiently waits at his side.

“Just...,” the man prompts gently when the brunet doesn’t speak for several long minutes.

“He’s like me,” the mechanic realizes, voice suddenly sounding small.

Jon has been around Mandalorians long enough to read the confusion in the bounty hunter’s body language, and gives a tired sigh before elaborating.

“Fuckin’ shit fer a childhood, expectin’ ta be punished jus’ fer existin’. Scared ta make a sound, ta take up space. Ta ask fer  _ help.” _

Din stares at him for a long moment, the kid gives a mournful little coo in his arms.

“That doesn’t sound like you,  _ vod.” _

“Ya didn’t know me back then,  _ beyora.” _

Din nods thoughtfully. “Maybe not, but who you were in the past isn’t who you are now.”

Jon frowns again, narrowing his eyes at the Mandalorian. The bounty hunter chuckles at the expression, and holds his son out to the brunet when the toddler begins to squirm. The mechanic immediately takes the child, carefully tucking the little one close to his chest.

“What you went through was terrible, Jon, but those experiences shaped you into the person you are now,” the Mandalorian softly tells him, reaching a gloved hand out to run a gentle finger over the top of the child’s fuzzy head.

The little green kid burrows under his chin, cooing happily at finally having the brunet’s attention, and Jon smiles down at the little one.

“Yer gonna think I’m crazy-”

“-Too late for that-”

“-I wouldn’t change any o’ it.”

Din falls silent, cocking his head curiously at the smaller man.

“Tha end result was Paz findin’ me-  _ or me findin’ ‘im,” _ he whispers with a shrug. “So I wouldn’t change a damn thang 'bout it.”

He ignores the instinctual need to flinch away under the bounty hunter’s heavy stare, he has to remind himself he wasn’t that scared kid anymore, and refocuses his attention to the tiny bundle in his arms.

Finally, the Mandalorian turns away with a shake of his helm.

“You’re good for him.”

Jon hums questioningly, only really half-listening as he slowly begins to rock the child in his arms.

“Paz,” Din clarified, voice amused as he observes the two of them out of the corner of his visor. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m convinced at this point if he ever has a heart attack you’ll be the cause-”

“Tha’ ain’t fair.”

The  _ beyora _ glances at him from over one shiny pauldron.

“I nevar said it ain’t true,” Jon grumbles. “Jus’ tha’ it ain’t fair.”

The other man snorts. “The fact remains,  _ vod, _ he’s happier with you in his life. So for that, you have my thanks.”

He considers the Mandalorian's words carefully before opening his mouth to reply.

“I’m  _ not  _ thankful enough to aid you in getting out of Ghas’ medical orders, though.”

Jon snaps his jaws closed, and breathes out heavily through his nose.

Well, it had been worth a shot.

_ Adi’ika _ makes a snuffling sound from where he’s curled into his chest, and the mechanic recognizes it as the sound the kid makes when he’s fighting sleep. He shushes the tot, and begins slowly rocking from side to side like he’d seen Corin do when trying to get the child settled down for a nap.

Din makes no move to intervene so the brunet figures he’s doing something right.

There’s something else on his mind, something he’d been meaning to ask the bounty hunter, but now that he has a chance, the mechanic finds himself hesitating.

The Mandalorian tilts his head at the pair like he can sense his unease, and Jon bristles.

“Something troubling you?”

“Yeah, ya could say tha’,” the brunet slowly admits.

The bounty hunter motions for him to continue, and he glances down at the child in his arms.

“Does he- the kid I mean-,” he nods down to the green bundle. “Does he have… dreams?”

“Dreams,” Din questions, cocking his helmet.

“Or, I guess, visions would kinda be a better term fer it?”

Din turns fully to him, helmet completely trained on the smaller man now. Jon swallows, but stares right back into that dark visor as he tries to meet the bounty hunter's eyes.

“Why?”

He takes a deep breath, steeling his nerves, but is cut off before he’s able to explain.

“Jon?”

The mechanic swivels around at the timid voice of the teenager, who ducks his head in embarrassment.

“Sorry, I- uh- I’m hungry.”

Corin steps up behind the blond, looking sheepish.

“Didn’t realize how late it was getting,” the older trooper chuckles.

“It’s fine,” Jon shrugs, eyes cutting over to the Mandalorian.

Din is still staring hard at him, shoulders tense, and the brunet gives a minute shake of his head.

_ Not now. _

“Come on, kid,” he calls, nodding towards the door. “Let’s grab us some lunch.”

*~~*~~*~~*

Lukas wasn’t sure what he had expected life to be like within a hidden Mandalorian covert, but this wasn’t it.

His previous way of living, if one could even call that, had been difficult. The days were long, filled with constant movement, barked orders, and sense of urgency to move toward some unknown goal. Nights aboard an Imperial ship were far too short, and sleep had left him feeling more tired than when he had been awake.

Now, though, it felt like a day stretched on forever. There was really nothing for him to do, other than follow along behind Jon as the man made his daily circuit of the underground tunnels. It left him feeling jumpy, and off-kilter. Free time within the Empire was a rarity, and often seen as an excuse for officers to put their troops through rigorous training.

Anyone that fell behind, or wasn’t pulling their weight, was punished. Severely.

Within the covert, though, he wasn’t expected to work. Or  _ do _ much of anything really.

It was unsettling to him to have so much time on his hands, but the alternative meant going back to the Empire. Jon had made it clear that that wasn’t an option, and, honestly, the teen had a feeling if he tried to go back, the brunet would just track him down.

Not that he’d ever consider going back.

At least he now had a steady supply of food, which had been treated like a luxury much like rest had been under the Empire's strict regiment. The idea of having three meals a day had left the teenager reeling.

Lukas had also been stunned to find another stormtrooper amongst the armored warriors. Corin even proudly displayed Beskar pauldrons, paired with a chestplate, and the older man wasn’t hidden away, or shunned by the Mandalorians, but seemed right at home.

That tiny gleam of hope he’d felt upon meeting Jon, and convincing the man to bring him along, had only grown stronger as he watched the warriors bump shoulders with the older ex-trooper as they cracked jokes like longtime friends.

And it continued to grow when he’d spotted children playing in the tribe’s underground tunnels.

Actual children.

These were not the emaciated skeletal figures the officers had called new cadets, but bright-eyed kids running around the legs of their watchful Mandalorian guardians.

Not a single adult scolded the little ones for playing, or growled out orders at them to stand at parade rest. They spoke to the children in soft tones, hands gentle when some of the younger ones sought out affection.

It felt like he’d somehow crossed over into a parallel dimension.

“Lukas.”

Jon’s voice cuts through his thoughts, and pulls him back to the present.

The teenager looked up from his food, blinking at the man sitting across from him.

“Yes?”

The mechanic arched a brow at him. The little green child was still curled close to the man’s chest, and was sleepily eyeing him from over one of the brunet’s arms.

“Ya’ve been starin’ at yer plate fer a while now. Everythin’ okay?”

He swallows down the ingrained need to apologize before he attempts to answer.

“I-,” he pauses, trying to sort through his thoughts. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just… got lost in my own head for a second.”

Jon hums, nodding as he readjusts the small bundle in his arms.

Lukas glances down at the child, who seemed mere moments away from falling asleep in the brunet’s arms.

“Does he have a name,” the ex-stormtrooper asks, voice lowered into a whisper.

“Din has been callin’ ‘im  _ Adi’ika,” _ Jon grumbles with an eye roll. “I guess tha’s better than jus’ callin’ ‘im kid, but not by much. Corin’s been tryin’ ta convince him ta come up ‘ith some’in better, but...”

The man trails off with a one armed shrug.

The blond frowns, and leans his elbows on the table as he watches the little one begin to nod off.

_ “Adi’ika?” _

The word feels clumsy on his tongue, and Lukas isn’t quite sure if he’s managed to pronounce it correctly. 

The mechanic grins at him, though, looking pleased at his attempt, and Lukas nearly ducks his head in embarrassment.

“Means ‘little one’,” Jon explains with a huff.

The ex-imperial blinks.

“Little one,” he repeats.

He doesn’t mean for it to come out sounding so… unimpressed, but really? ‘Little one’?

Jon chuckles at his expression. “Yup.”

The teen bites his lip, hesitating, but if the mechanic notices he doesn’t call attention to it.

You were taught quickly in the Empire that stormtroopers were not meant to ask questions, simply to follow orders.

“Din is the Mando in the shiny armor,” he asks slowly, almost expecting to be snapped at.

Jon just hums an affirmative, though, and leans carefully back in his seat to get more comfortable.

The teenager allows his eyes to roam over the mostly empty room they were sitting in. It was one of the bigger common areas, boasting several tables and sitting areas. The room sort of resembled a more relaxed version of a mess hall.

When he didn’t immediately spot said Mandalorian, or Corin for that matter, Lukas turns curiously back to the mechanic.

“Wasn’t he supposed to watch us?”

“Me,” the brunet corrects, looking annoyed by the very idea. “Guess he figured I wouldn’t do anythin’ stupid with tha kid alseep in my arms.”

He blinks at the man, tilting his head to one side. “He wasn’t guarding me?”

The brunet gives him a flat unimpressed look. “Ya ain’t a prisoner, so why would he?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but it feels like someone had just squeezed the air from his lungs. He swallows down the lump forming in his throat, and looks away.

“It don’t matter where ya came from. Yer a foundling,  _ our _ foundling, an’ this is yer home, Lukas,” Jon murmurs, shifting the now sleeping toddler so the little one’s head is pillowed against one of his shoulders. “Yer part o’ this family, so get used to it, ‘cause Paz an’ me ain’t going anywhere.”

“I-,” he starts, voice so thick it catches in his throat. “I’ve done a lot of bad things-”

“I know,” the mechanic sighs. “So have I, but we survived didn’t we?”

Lukas nods, carefully watching the man from his peripherals.

“Tha’ was in tha past. Tha’ was survival. Here-,” the older man pauses, staring unfocused past his shoulder before those green eyes suddenly snap back to him. “Here in this covert-.”

The man trails off, gathering his thoughts.

“I ain’t gonna say I have all tha answers, Lukas,” Jon sighs, looking unsure. “‘Cause I do’t. But I  _ do _ know wha’s it’s like ta feel like ya do’t matter.”

The blond wheezes sharply, suddenly short of breath.

“Tha’ ain’t gonna happen here,” the mechanic swears firmly, eyes locked onto the teenager. “Paz and me- we do’t want ya ta feel like ya do’t matter. ‘Cause ya do. Ya matter ta  _ us, _ and if anyone ever makes ya feel like tha’, ya better come ta me ‘bout it. Understand?”

Lukas swallows, warmth blooming in his chest.

“What,” he chuckles softly, trying to mask his discomfort with amusement. “Are you just going to start offing people that tease me?”

Jon gives him a blank look.

“My husband is a Mando,” the man snarls. “If he do’t know what ta do wit’ a body then I’m sure yer aunt will.”

He could point out that the Empire probably knew he was gone a mere standard hour after he’d left with Jon, that his own platoon had probably been assigned to track him down.

But he doesn’t. He can’t bring himself to, because he wants desperately to believe in the two men that had adopted him into their clan.

“Where is Din?”

He startles at the new voice, but Jon just blinks lazily over at the newcomer.

“Speakin’ o’… Hey thar’, Raga.”

The blond isn’t sure how someone is able to pull off a deadpan expression with their faces completely concealed, but the woman somehow manages it flawlessly.

“Din was supposed to be watching you,  _ Jon’ika.” _

“Well, he was fer a while,” the mechanic shrugs, careful not to disturb the sleeping infant in his arms.

“But not now,” Raga growls.

It isn’t a question, but Jon feels the need to answer anyway.

“Nope,” Jon slurs around a yawn, but gives no further explanation.

The woman grumbles something under her breath that has Jon chuckling, and Lukas allows a grin to tug up the corners of his mouth as he watches the two.

He feels himself begin to relax, taut muscles uncoiling, for the first time in ages.

*~~*~~*~~*

Paz isn’t shocked to find his small clan in the hangar, because even if Jon was on medically ordered bed rest, he’d physically have to restrain his  _ cyare _ to keep him from his post as head mechanic.

What does surprise the heavy gunner is the teenager, though.

Lukas is watching from a short distance away, flanked on either side by the twins, but something is different.

The teen looks… lighter, like a weight had been lifted from him. The boy stands taller, shoulders relaxed, and not drawn up to his ears like he expects a blow. The boy even smiles at him, when the ex-trooper notices his approach.

Paz isn’t sure what has happened in the short time he’s been absent, but this was a definite improvement.

His husband is frowning at some heavy scorch marks on the side of one of their smaller gun ships while the pilot squirms as his side.

“I jus’ fixed this fu-,” the man pauses, seems to rethink his wording before continuing. “-this ship. It’s been- what? Two weeks?”

“Nine days,” the female Mandalorian quietly admits.

Jon’s eyes cut towards the woman, narrowing dangerously. “Who did ya manage ta piss off?”

“Imps,” Lorna grumples, the word sounding like a curse.

“How’d tha’ work out fer ya?”

“Better than the Imps.”

The mechanic snorts, and the tense line of the other Mando’s posture easies.

“Aren’t you supposed to be taking it easy,” the woman asks, curiously.

“Yes, he is.”

Jon’s head snaps up, grin lighting up his face for a half second, then his expression droops into a pout.

“I ain’t workin’,” the mechanic huffs. “Jus’... lookin’.”

“Looking,” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest, and staring down at the smaller man.

True to form, Jon doesn’t even bat an eye at the display, even as Lorna tries to subtly shift away behind him.

It’s odd, he thinks. That this fearlessness of his husband is one of the things he loves about this man, but also finds infuriating.

He’s never been afraid of Paz, not of his size or strength. From day one, the mechanic had put his trust in the Mandalorian without expecting anything in return. 

On the other side, though, there are times that the man seems to hold little value in his own life, and Jon’s lack of basic self-preservation instinct was proof of that.

“He hasn’t picked up a tool.”

Lukas’ timid voice cuts through his thoughts, and he turns to glance over at the teen.

“I’ve been watching him,” the boy promises, back straightening.

Jon snorts. “See? I got witnesses.”

He hopes the flat look he throws at the other man is evident through his helmet. If it is, his husband pays it no mind, instead grinning smugly up at him.

“Even if I wanted ta work, I ca’t,” Jon grumbles, nodding down to the small bundle in his arms.

Paz hadn’t even noticed the toddler, too focused on checking on his  _ cyare _ and their own  _ ad. _ The child is fast asleep, curled protectively in the mechanic’s arms with his face pressed into one of the man’s shoulders.

He blinks down at the little one, then his jaw tightens. “Din was supposed to be watching you, _ cyar’ika. _ Where is he?”

“I’d ‘magine he’s pro’bly hindin’ from Raga right ‘bout now so ya’d have ta get in line,  _ ner kar’ta.” _

The heavy gunner growls, running a hand over the back of his helmet in aggravation.

“No hands on work, Jon,” he growls, narrowing his eyes at the innocent look the brunet tosses towards him. “I mean it. If Ghas catches you with a tool in your hands you’ll get no help from me, but-”

“I’ll supervise,” the man nods, expression thoughtful.

Paz nods, already regretting this agreement, and plotting his revenge on the bounty hunter that let the mechanic out of his sight.

*~~*~~*~~*

For someone so concerned about Jon not overworking himself, Paz hadn’t put up much resistance when the mechanic had begged his husband to allow him a quick look at the interior of the damaged vessel. The presence of Din’s still napping foddling in the brunet's arms seemed to ease the larger man’s apprehension somewhat, and reluctantly agreeing.

Which is how the bounty hunter found the thin man looking over an open junction box within the deserted gunship with a critical eye, his son still tucked close to the man’s chest.

“What did you mean by visions?”

Jon startles, making a choking sound as he twists around.

“Fu- do’t  _ do _ tha’,” he hisses, glaring at Din as he swipes a free hand through mussed hair.

The bounty hunter leans casually against the open doorway of the gunship, and the child immediately sturs as if sensing his father. Dark eyes peek over one of Jon’s arms, huge ears perking when he spots the familiar shiny armor, and gives an excited little coo.

“Lookin’ pretty smug fer someone on Raga’s sh-,” the brunet pauses, making a face as he hesitates. “-on Raga’s bad side.”

The Mandalorian sweeps forward, arms raised to pluck his child from the other man, but pauses as the mechanic’s unusual speech pattern registers.

“You know you don’t have to censor yourself, right? He’s heard worse-.”

“Ya say tha’ now, but I do’t wan’ ta hear an’thing if his first word is a curse he’s heard from me,” Jon grumbles with a sneer.

Din snorts, and the brunet narrows his eyes at the Mandalorian.

“Speakin’ o’ which: shouldn’t ya be hindin’ from Raga?”

“And Paz,” the bounty hunter shrugs. “Corin is running interference-”

“Ya two are made fer each other-”

“-And you’re trying to distract me, Jon.”

The smaller man frowns, but the mechanic doesn’t try to deny the claim.

“Jon-”

“I dreamt o’- I saw som’thin’.”

The admission catches him by surprise, and Din takes a step closer.

“That’s why you took the device and ran,” he realizes quietly, cocking his helm towards the man. “You destroyed it, didn’t you?”

He gets a curt nod, but the man doesn’t meet his eyes, instead, holding the toddler out for Din to take.

Which is good, he thinks. Honestly, the bounty hunter had wanted to toss that damn thing into the forge the moment he’d laid eyes on it. The only thing that had stayed his hand was the reassurance from his  _ Alor _ that the mechanic could be trusted with the cursed thing.

He hadn’t known the mechanic for nearly as long at Paz, but the man seemed confident in himself around anything electronic. On top of that, the man actually seemed like he was having  _ fun _ piecing the thing back together.

So he had been shocked when, shortly after finishing the repairs on the device, the mechanic had taken it, and  _ run. _

At first, he had thought the worst. That the man had been some kind of spy for the Imperials, and now he’d gone off to report back to his master.

Then he had witnessed it, a moment that should have probably been something private between his  _ vod’e _ .

He had always thought of Paz as some immovable object. A boulder in a storm, steadfast and strong.

That view of his  _ vod _ had shattered that day. Watching the two tearfully recite the marriage vows from over comms had been difficult to watch, but honor had dictated that he bear witness to the rights.

He carefully pulls his son from the man’s slacked hold, tucking the child close. Jon steps back, and turns back to the open panel.

His eyes aren’t focused on the fired wiring though, instead, appearing very far away.

“You saw something that made you destroy that device,” he presses, realization beginning to sink in.

“I heard o’ tha jedi when I was a kid,” the brunet whispers, still not taking his eyes from the junction box. “I always ‘magined ‘em swoopin’ in ta save me-”

The man lets out a wet laugh, and  _ Adi’ika _ coos sadly from the Mandalorians arms, ears drooping.

“Bunch a tauntaun sh-,” the man bites out, cutting himself off with a huff.

Din stiffens, back ramrod straight. “You’ve had visions before.”

The smaller man frowns, eyes still focused on the electrical panel. “Not fer a long time an’ nothin’ like tha’ ‘fore. I used ta get these feelin’s as a kid but-”

He trails off with a shrug, looking unsure of himself.

“Jon,” he softly calls, watching the man cock his head towards him. “What did you see?”

He’s surprised by how steady Jon’s eyes are when they snap towards him, but the quake in the man’s voice is clearly evident when he speaks.

“A nightmare… I saw a kriffin’ nightmare.”

**Author's Note:**

> Val ru'kel pirimmur ade - They would use children  
> Ni ru'kir'manir a adiik. Tion'jor cuy' ni bid di'kutla? - I adopted a child. Why am I so stupid?


End file.
